


San Junipero: Patsy and Delia

by ohyouredsox



Category: Black Mirror (TV), Call the Midwife
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:53:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohyouredsox/pseuds/ohyouredsox
Summary: The love story of Patsy Mount and Delia Busby, set in the eternal hereafter, San Junipero. Patsy is a resident of San Junipero, having chosen to remain in the hope of seeing her long lost first love, Delia, who suffered a traumatic brain injury from a cycling accident and never returned to London. The two women lost contact, and Patsy assumed the memory of their relationship was lost as a result of her lover’s injury. We meet her in San Junipero, where she travels with the married pair Yorkie and Kelly, traversing the decades in the eternal body of a 28 year old. Soon, some familiar faces drop in as visitors as they decide on their plans after death.
Relationships: Delia Busby/Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Trixie Franklin/Patsy Mount, Kelly/Yorkie (Black Mirror)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction. I have not seen a Patsy/Delia story set in San Junipero, to my surprise. This is my go at one.
> 
> If you are not familiar with San Junipero, I hope that the story reveals the concept. Though, I highly recommend watching the episode of Black Mirror no matter what. In short, San Junipero is a town comprising residents who have chosen to spend eternity there. The living, those close to death, can “visit” to decide if they want to live there. They can travel to any year/decade to hang out.

It was a late summer evening in San Junipero. The bar opened early for “happy hour,” as residents stood around and craned their necks to take in any arriving visitors to town. 

Patsy stood leaned against a wall, nursing a Tab soda and smoking. Patsy looked up from her cigarette and nodded in Yorkie’s direction. Yorkie meandered through the thin afternoon crowd and perched up against the wall next to Patsy.

“What’s up?” Yorkie inquired.

“Tell me again why you two wanted to waste a perfectly good afternoon here, in 1984? I could do without Van Halen,” Patsy replied, casting her eyes around the room and taking in the garish decor and fashion selections.

“Kelly and I wanted to see you in every decade, and since you refuse to touch anything between about 1940 and 1965, we have to take what we can get!”

Patsy tossed her head back and took a drag on her cigarette. She quipped, “So a grand tour of EACH year of the 1980s is on hand, I see. And out of order so I have all my video games and pop songs mixed up.”

The two women laughed as a buoyant Kelly appeared. She struck a seductive pose, imitating Madonna in Material Girl. 

“Ever think it’s funny how everyone here chooses to be around 28 years old?” Kelly wondered.

Yorkie laughed, “We’re all pretty much hottest at that age.”

Patsy shook her head, chuckling. “Not me. I was such a ladykiller in my middle ages. I say I peaked at 45, 46. Maybe even a few years later. You know, I was living in the states then. My accent went a long way with the ladies.”

Yorkie cocked an eyebrow, “Then why are you perpetually 28? Just trying to fit in with the kids? And why won’t you come with us one night to when you were ACTUALLY 28? What, late 50s?” 

Patsy quirked her lips in a gentle smile and cast her eyes downward. She bit her bottom lip and fixed her eyes ahead, losing herself in a memory for a few moments. She narrowed her eyes and flitted her attention between her two friends.

“Because the music was dreadful, not to mention the undergarments,” Patsy replied, dryly. 

Kelly and Yorkie laughed in understanding.

Yorkie spoke, “Kells and I went on a date there, to 1960 or something.”

“You call her Kells?” Patsy asked wistfully, a dash of pink coloring her cheekbones.

“Sure,” laughed Yorkie, draping an arm affectionately over her wife’s shoulder. 

Kelly could sense the emotions stirring in Patsy. She implored, “What’s going through that head of yours, Mountie?” 

Patsy snapped back to attention, having drifted again towards some memory. “What? Nothing,” she lied.

“You left someone there,” Kelly pushed.

“Kelly!” Yorkie scolded, flushing in embarrassment.

“What? Where? I left someone where?” Patsy fumbled with her words.

“You did,” Kelly nodded, in a moment of certainty. 

“Kells...” Yorkie begged.

Kelly turned to her wife, “What?” She snapped. “You were the one who brought it up the other night. That Patsy lost someone in her young adulthood, or maybe earlier.” 

Patsy shook her head and moved to leave. “I am not discussing this with either of you. Kelly, I know you’re nosy, but Yorkie, I wouldn’t have expected you to talk behind my back, speculating about what I have chosen to omit from my personal life story.” 

Yorkie opened her mouth to apologize, but Kelly moved to block Patsy’s path and spoke first. “Patsy, we only care. I mean, look at the two of us. Yorkie had to beg me to stay here with her. You - you might have a chance now. If you open yourself to her, she might come. She might come for you.”

“She won’t remember,” Patsy murmured. 

Kelly paused, taking in Patsy’s admission. She lowered her voice, “No one really knows what memories you can and can’t access here.” 

Yorkie nodded frantically, “Right. You know Neal? The guy built sort of like a rugby player with the ponytail?”

“Oh yeah,” Patsy grimaced in disgust. “Sort of a greaser. What about him?”

Yorkie chuckled at Patsy’s use of midcentury slang. “Well, he struck up a friendship with that one girl, Jennifer, the blonde with the sort of Miss Piggy nose.”

Kelly and Patsy laughed.

“And,” Yorkie continued. “It turned out she had been his high-school sweetheart, the one who got away. One day, I guess, she just sort of recognized him, and then he remembered too...It was like, one of them had to realize the other, and these scenes from their lives came flooding back.” 

Patsy looked down at the floor and back up at her two friends. “Well, she may not remember...She may not have remembered me as a living person. Even while she was relatively young.”

Yorkie and Kelly stared at Patsy, anxiously waiting for more details.

Patsy groaned “Look, I can’t talk about this. I - I can’t, not tonight.”

Kelly nodded, her eyes boring deeply into Patsy’s. “She’s the reason you came,” Kelly murmured. 

“She’s not!” Patsy protested.

Kelly shook her head. “No, it’s true. We live in Eternity - in San Junipero - where we can travel to any era, can live our lives how we want. We - we can smoke without worrying about our lungs. And, you’re miserable. You’re sad and depressed and missing something. You came to hedge your bets on her. You kept your soul, your consciousness going for this chance.”

Yorkie marvelled at Kelly. “That’s so romantic, babe.”

Patsy stared at Kelly bitterly. “Well, some choice it was. She’s not here.”

“Was she younger?” Kelly asked.

“Four years,” Patsy confirmed softly.

Yorkie looked at her watch. “She may come, sometime. She may visit. She may be deciding.” 

Patsy shook her head. “Nothing I ever really wanted came to pass in my living years. Why start believing it will now?” 

“Open your heart to her, Patience,” Kelly replied. She placed her palms beneath Patsy’s crossed arms gently. “She may be waiting for something, a sign.” 

“I was a very rational woman in the living years, Kelly. I was a nursing professor, a woman of science, full stop. And even though I live in an eternity made possible by postmodern technological design, I can’t just go giving faith like that. I can’t open myself to what might be gone forever.” 

“I mean, you can,” Yorkie shrugged. 

Patsy pointed her nose upward. “Not tonight,” she repeated. She picked up her purse and cocked her head towards her friends. “I do love you both. But I’ll go now. I - I will tell you more one day. You deserve to know, especially if I’m to tag on as third wheel for all eternity!”

Patsy’s friends smiled kindly. 

Patsy made her way out of the bar. The late summer sun drenched the pavement and cast a glow in the direction of Patsy’s house. The light worked like that, in San Junipero.

“Excuse me, miss?” Patsy was jolted out of her thoughts by a pleasant English accent. She looked into the eyes of a pretty, fair skinned blonde. She wore tight, light colored jeans and a hot pink cropped top. 

“I was wondering where I might find the Treasure Chest, the clothing store? You see I’m visiting and I’m in search of...” she drifted off without finishing her sentence. “Patience Mount?”

Patsy hadn’t realized it, but tears were pouring down her cheeks, rapidly so. “Well, hello, old thing,” she greeted in her clipped voice, albeit a shaky one. “My, you...well, the 80s attire suits you, darling.”

Trixie laughed, tears of joy splayed across her face. She leapt into Patsy’s arms and the taller woman spun her around. They held onto each other for several moments. 

The two old friends stood facing each other, sizing up one another and the moment. Eventually, Trixie spoke. 

“Patsy, is she here?”


	2. A Tempest in a Tea Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Trixie catch up. Yorkie hatches a plan.

Trixie deposited her tea cup on its saucer and gazed intently at her old friend. Patsy smiled. Her freshly dyed hair glistened, despite the fading sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. Her eyes, while infinitely blue, betrayed her worry. 

Patsy wasn’t ready for a reunion with anyone, not to mention someone from her time in Poplar. Even though it was Trixie, they hadn’t seen one another for decades, and Patsy’s least favorite activity was recounting her life. That’s why she mostly avoided visitors and tourists. Moreover, Trixie had asked about Delia, whether the two had ever come back into contact, and whether they had reunited in San Junipero. There was only so much deflecting Patsy could do. 

Throughout their evening together, Patsy held her cards close to her chest, as she always had done, and controlled the conversation. She reported on the more positive aspects of her life, things she knew Trixie would enjoy hearing about – the décor of her West Village apartment over the years and her long-term lectureship at Columbia. Between her own withholding testimonials, Patsy pried much more information out of her friend. 

It turned out that after Patsy left for Hong Kong to see to her father, it became clear that Nonnatus House’s days were numbered as midwifery evolved into a niche field of care. Trixie married a physician in the late ‘60s, not long before Nonnatus finally shuttered its doors. The couple remained in London, but she gave up nursing when she had children. She and her husband divorced in the ‘80s, and she never remarried. Her daughters were close to one another in age, and were called Barbara and Joan. Trixie explained that after leaving Poplar, she had been unable to forget her sweet friend Barbara Gilbert, and had grieved her death.

As the evening carried on, both women minded the clock. Trixie smiled, “Midnight comes around much faster when you’re in the company of old friends.”

Patsy nodded. She lowered her voice and asked, “Trixie, are you well?”

Trixie sighed, “My time is near,” she said. “I enjoyed good health my whole life. I’m just old.” Both women laughed. Trixie continued, “With kidney failure, heart troubles, things like that, starting to creep on in my older age. My time is near. “And,” she added, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, “I wanted to check things out for my daughter.” 

“Your daughter?” Patsy inquired.

“Yes, Barbara,” Trixie wiped her eyes. “She’s got breast cancer. She had it before, years back, and it reoccurred. Usually that means the prognosis is not so good. She’s declining…”

“Trixie, I’m so sorry.”

Trixie nodded. “Thank you. She is much too young and much too brilliant to die. But, we do have this place now, I suppose.” Trixie tapped her empty tea cup with her manicured nails. “Patsy, do tell me whatever happened between you and Delia. Did you ever see her again?”

Patsy sighed and shook her head, “No. I never did. I spent a couple years in Hong Kong trying to manage my father’s business after he died. Eventually I sold it off. I couldn’t bear returning home…to London, to Blighty at all, actually. I went straight to New York and took up my studies and tried to enjoy lesbian life in the Village. I was not very successful at enjoying life, but I did like living in New York. Anyway, I never got over Delia, but I was too scared to look for her. I figured if she remembered me and wanted to get in touch, she would… she would find a way. I wouldn’t have been able to bear her rejection, or her lack of memory.” Patsy dabbed the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “Trixie, did you ever see her again?”

“Dear me, no. I never did,” Trixie replied. “She never returned to London, as far as I know. One time, after you left, Phyllis Crane and I – you remember her, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Patsy smiled. She lit two cigarettes and handed one to Trixie. This conversation was about to thicken. 

“Well, we had a conversation about her one day, Phyllis and I did, about how close you were with Delia. Both of us wondered what had happened to her after the accident. It didn’t seem right, just never seeing her again. The way her mother snatched her up and dragged her back to Wales and all that. So, I wrote to an address in Wales I presumed may have been hers. I thought that maybe when you came back, which of course you never did, I could help you get back in touch with her. But I never heard anything. The letter wasn’t refused, so it must have landed in somebody’s lap. Who knows? It was all so curious,” Trixie shook her head and dragged on her cigarette. 

Patsy fumed. She practically spit while she spoke. “Her mother must have known about us. That old bat. I always wondered if Delia tried to write to me, and if her mother refused to post the letters. I wouldn’t put it past her. Then enough time passed, that I figured she never remembered me or had gone off me or something. That she had given up. Only,” Patsy ruminated. “Traumatic brain injury usually doesn’t affect long term memory like that…” Patsy trailed off and stared out her kitchen window towards the beach. She looked up, suddenly. “Trixie, how did you know about Delia and me?”

Trixie rocked with laughter. “Oh, Patience Mount. You really thought you could keep a secret, didn’t you? It’s a good thing you never tried to work for MI6. I hope you never bet much in poker!”

Patsy bit her bottom lip. “Was I really that obvious? What a fool I was…to think…” She threw her hands over her eyes, embarrassed.

Trixie sighed, “Patsy, it wasn’t so much you were a terrible liar. I mean, you were, but it was that you were so much in love. That kind of love…it is hard to hide.”

“Did the others know?” Patsy leaned across the table, her voice not rising above a whisper. 

“Yes, sweetie. They did. I won’t forget one evening. We were gathered around the telly, that blasted old thing, went out every time the wind blew…Anyway, Phyllis said something about how she missed you. How you two would sit together in silence once in a while, you would write in your journal and she would knit. And you would share the candies she proffered. You would always grab an extra handful when she wasn’t looking…”

Patsy smiled fondly. “I do remember.”

“…To which Sister Monica Joan replied, ‘Those weren’t the only sweets Ms. Mount indulged. I do recall a Welsh cake from time to time.’” 

Patsy went white and dropped her teaspoon onto the saucer. “Trixie, no!”

Trixie roared with laughter. “I say. The entire room went up in hysterics. Everyone – Sister Julienne, the whole lot.” 

Eventually, Patsy broke down in laughter. “Sad thing is,” her face flushing red. “I never did indulge in…well, you know…we never did much more than kiss...And we hardly got to do that.”

Trixie stared, “You never…?” 

Patsy shook her head and sighed, “We never.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Patsy looked up and noticed that the time was approaching midnight, when visitors would disappear for the week. Patsy stood and cleared the table. Trixie joined her in helping to clean up. The two women embraced.

“Trix,” Patsy said. “Do return next week. Let’s meet somewhere fun…how about 1970? Let’s meet and spend the evening out. The bars here, they’re wonderful. The places you would always want to go. And the shops…you’ll love the shops that stay open late for visitors. Stop by earlier in the evening, and we can play dress up.”

Trixie nodded. She tilted her head and asked, softly, “Patsy, did you hope to find her here?” 

Patsy leaned against the kitchen counter. She could not continue to lie to her old friend. “Yes, I suppose I did. It seems she’s either bypassed it, or she passed on before the town was designed, or…”

Trixie smiled, “Or, she’s still living and there’s still a chance.”

Patsy began to cry, softly. “Oh, Trixie. I don’t know. I think about it constantly, at all hours. For my whole life, I thought about her. I am always looking for her signs of her. I did my whole life, if you can believe it. Thing is…I refuse to go anywhere near where…where we were together, those years. The idea…the idea that I could be there without her, or worse, that she could be there and not remember me…I couldn’t bear it. Somehow running into her in the ‘90s and having her not recognize me would be somewhat more bearable. Oh dear, I am blabbering…”

Trixie shook her head, “No, no. I am sure that, even if she had trouble remembering you, she never really forgot you.” 

The two women hugged again, and after a few minutes, the night went dark.

< >

The wind blew violently and shook the window panes. It marked the eerie sound of midnight. None of San Junipero’s permanent residents ever really got used to the sound, to the feeling – the sensation – of the living disappearing back into their own realities. To the place of lost time.  
“It’s like fucking Halloween, every time,” Kelly murmured.

“Kells,” Yorkie inquired. “What do you think of this idea…”

“Mmm…” Kelly replied, not looking up from her tablet. 

“I had this idea,” Yorkie repeated. “I want to open a lesbian bar.”

Kelly looked up, “Yorkie, it’s San Junipero. You don’t need lesbian bars here. Everyone’s cool.”

Yorkie turned to face her wife. “Kells, think of how fun it would be. People may be tolerant, but there’s still a thrill to being in a…a place for people like you. At least, I always imagined it would be fun. I missed that chance when I was alive…I have always wanted to go to a gay bar.”

Kelly humored her wife, “And where would you open this place?”

Yorkie smiled mischievously, “I don’t know. I was thinking, 1960, or something. When they were still underground. I’m sure I’ve saved up enough credit to go in on it. How fun would that be? We can visit the living archives and do some research on lesbian bars of the period. It would be fun, if anything.”

“I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to get Mount to confront her demons. What makes you think she’d agree to come to a dyke bar? She’s so cagey. She wouldn’t like it.”

“Kelly, think about it,” Yorkie pushed. “What if her old flame is looking for her there?”

Kelly cocked her head in thought. “I thought she had amnesia…What if she really doesn’t remember Patsy? What if she’s just gone?”

“Well, then we’ll know,” Yorkie said. “And Patsy can move on. Come on, you were the one giving Patsy a pep talk.”

Kelly shook her head. “Patsy doesn’t seem like the type to move on.”

Yorkie laughed, “Maybe not. But I can’t let her go on like this…just existing here not pursuing the one thing she came for…I mean, I came back for you, and when you seemed to reject me it was hard. But I had to keep trying. I had to come back and look for you.” 

Kelly took Yorkie’s hand and leaned in to kiss her. “I know, sweetheart. And I’m so glad you did.”

Yorkie nodded, “I’m going to the register’s office tomorrow. Patsy doesn’t even have to know. She won’t set foot in that time period anyway. And – and we could spend some time there after it opens and see if anyone shows up looking for her…I mean wouldn’t it be amazing if we could find her and bring them back together?”

“You are a romantic,” Kelly marveled. 

“You are too and you know it,” Yorkie laughed. 

They settled into each other’s arms. 

“We should do this for her,” Kelly conceded. “She’d be so much more fun to hang out with if she was getting laid once in a while.” 

Yorkie laughed. “No kidding. We’ll have to find out her name, though.”


	3. On a Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie returns to the living world and reports on her experience in San Junipero. Yorkie embarks on her mission and meets a friendly librarian. Patsy is indignant, until she lets her guard down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am realizing that this is quite a time to start a story about a simulated reality. Enjoy the link in the chapter. The scene was filmed on location! The Killing of Sister George is something of a touchstone in queer cinema. It is very strange. Hope you like the librarian! Setting this up for Delia to appear very soon, next chapter. 
> 
> Again, I think San Junipero is the most beautiful hour of television I have ever seen. Watch it if you have Netflix!
> 
> Content warnings here - references to depression and physical disability, references to homophobic families...Yorkie's back story here is true to how it was represented in San Junipero. 
> 
> Thank you for your encouragement.

LONDON, sometime around the present

Trixie’s grown daughter Joan perched on the edge of her mother’s bed. It was early autumn, and the dim afternoon light cast a golden glow into the master bedroom. Joan had been fussing around the house waiting for her mother to wake up; she had slept for an unusually long time that day. 

Trixie stirred, “Hello dear. What time is it?”

Joan checked her watch. “Near two o’clock in the afternoon. How was clocking out into the cloud? Don’t tell me too much. I’m not sure I want to know.” Joan averted her eyes to mask her sadness over her mother’s declining health. 

Trixie blinked. “The technician had warned me that the first visit could be very intense. I just wasn’t sure HOW intense. It was quite a time. How’s Barbara today?”

Joan nodded, “She’s alright. She’s still at chemo. I’ll be off to get her in about an hour. I’ll bring her back here. We’ll all have dinner together. Then she’ll be sick and you’ll fall asleep.”

Trixie winced, “Sometimes your jokes hit the mark a bit too hard, dear.” Trixie sighed and looked her daughter in the face. “Joanie, caring for the two of us is taking up all of your time.”

Joan replied, “What else have I to do? Every hour spent with you and her…Well, it’s where I want to be. These are the benefits of becoming an academic, after all. All that unstructured time.”

Trixie smiled, “Joan, I have a favour to ask. As the expert Googler you are. I need help with something.”

“Okay?” Her mother was not usually this evasive. She seemed nervous.

“You remember how before I met your father I was a midwife?” Trixie started.

Joan smiled, “Yes, of course, over in the East End. Sure. What of it?”

Trixie smiled wistfully, “Well, it has to do with an old friend, from my days as a nurse. I used to work with a woman called Patience Mount. She was really my best friend at Nonnatus, my roommate actually. She was sweet, utterly beautiful, and the most tortured soul I’ve ever met. She fancied – well, she fancies – women, and you can imagine how difficult that was in the ‘50s, ‘60s.”

Joan blinked. “Mum, was she – is she – your lover?”

“Darling, no! Where do you get these ideas? I haven’t been out of your sight for two years. When would I have had the time to take up a lover behind your back?” Trixie laughed, “Although, sometimes I wish I’d had the desire to take up with women. But you know me, I’m still boy crazy in my old age!”

Joan laughed and joked, “Right, you are. Enough for the both of us.” Joan herself was never interested in men, nor women for that matter. She was content in her identity as asexual. It baffled Trixie. 

“Anyway,” Trixie continued. “This Patience, Patsy, my friend, she had a sweetheart called Delia Busby. She was just adorable, really – brunette, dimples, petite. Brilliant girl, really. She was a nurse as well, over at the old London Hospital. One day, the day after she and Patsy moved into a flat together, she was involved in a cycling accident and lost much of her memory. Her mother came all the way from Wales to collect her. No one heard from her again. I think Patsy tried to write, but she never heard back, and she never received any letters from Delia, either. Then Patsy went off to Hong Kong to see to her dying father. She was very wealthy, you see, from a family in the ship brokering business. She had lost her mother and sister in the war, and her father had sent her off to boarding school. They didn’t speak again until he called to tell her he was dying and wished to see her. So, Patsy went off and never returned to Britain, at least not to live. And Delia never came back to London. They lost touch. Though, their love story may have been the one for the ages. They were so very much in love.”

Joan leaned forward, eager to her more. “Mum, that’s so sad. What happened? Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, I ran into Patsy.”

“Here in London?” Joan asked.

“No, dear. In San Junipero. On my visit.”

Joan cast her eyes downward. She had read all of the literature on San Junipero. She understood the concept and the technology behind the simulated afterlife, but she struggled with the idea of “visiting” as a living person and fully remembering the visit afterwards, as though it were just another holiday. There were no photographs – that was a complex algorithm researchers were still considering, capturing imagery from the memories of visitors – but the reporting of visits was very vivid and very consistent across participants. 

“Go on,” Joan encouraged.

“She looked the same, dear. It was 1984, where we were, attire appropriate. But her face was the same and she had the same bottle-red hair. I ran into her on the street as though it was any old day. We went back to her cottage to talk and…she told me all about her life and how she never tried to contact Delia.”

“Oh, that’s so sad,” Joan whimpered, fully invested in the story at this point. 

“Well, she never fell out of love. And now, whatever version of herself is off living in this after place, is still in love. Truth is, she went there for Delia, to see if she could find her. Now, Patsy was one of the more tortured people I’d ever met…one of the kindest, but one of the most deeply pained people. The idea of her opting into eternity in the same human form would have been unfathomable to me. I would have guessed any day that she’d have opted to be reincarnated as a frog. But she chose San Junipero. I mean, she chose Delia.”

“Is Delia there?” Joan asked, rapt. 

“No, dear, not that anyone knows. So, I need your help.”

Joan nodded in understanding. “You want me to find out if she’s still living.”

Trixie nodded, “Yes. And then I want you to contact her and inquire as to what she remembers of her time in Poplar, of me and Patsy.”

Joan shook her head, “Mother, that is awfully invasive. And what if she doesn’t remember? Will I have left an old woman confused and upset?”

“Joan, I need to try. Please, find out. I’m not sure I can bear a heartbroken Patsy for all eternity.”

The two chuckled. “So you’ve decided to move to San Junipero after all?”

Trixie smiled. She shrugged.

Joan finally nodded her agreement. “Okay, Delia Busby? What are the chances she’s kept the same last name? What if she married? What are the chances she still lives in Wales?”

Trixie nodded, “I am not sure about her last name. Her mother might have married her off to some chap or another. But I would bet she still lives in Wales. Pembrokeshire, specifically.”

“And there are probably about a thousand women called Delia there.”

“That’s why you look for one born around 1937. Would have been certified as a nurse. Would have grown up in Wales also. Would have studied at the London in nursing.”

Joan shook her head, “I say, you’re as sharp as a tack.”

“Even on my death bed,” Trixie quipped.

“God, don’t say that. You’re hardly on life support,” Joan groaned. “Anyway, sure, I’ll look for her. Then what? If I find her, or I find that she’s passed, what will you do?”

Trixie raised her chin. “I will decide then,” she answered, defiantly. 

< >

SAN JUNIPERO

Yorkie woke early on Monday. She walked her bicycle over to the main road, marveling in how quiet the town was at this time of day. The Quagmire, the massive nightclub built for residents who needed to retreat to the dark place, loomed in the background beyond the residential areas. Surely if a monstrosity like the Quagmire existed it should not be too hard to open a little lesbian bar on a street corner. 

As she approached the road, Yorkie turned her pain dial to zero, even though it tended to dull the sensation of sun on skin or the cool breeze in hair. Thing was, activities like biking and swimming still left Yorkie fearful. She often walked, even if it was inconvenient to do so – it was generally safest and she marveled at the thrill of feeling her feet connect with the pavement. Having lived most of her life with paraplegia, she wanted to shout her joy from the rafters, along with her terror. She could walk, she could dance, and she could frolic with her wife on the beach.

The ability to walk, Yorkie supposed, was the reason she felt she needed to do something to help Patsy. Sometimes, she felt they could be sisters. Yorkie had liked Patsy very much from the moment they’d met, the night Patsy visited for the first time, a scowl plastered across her face that betrayed the vulnerability behind her eyes. Patsy reminded Yorkie of herself on her own first visit, and though she had a different emotional demeanor from Patsy, she felt as though they’d been equally terrified of the possibilities of this place. Neither woman had that “throw caution to the wind” defiance Kelly had, even though Kelly had carried her own sadness throughout much of her life. 

Patsy had faced severe limitations in the living world. Yorkie didn’t know much about it, but she knew her friend had suffered from depression and the after effects of childhood trauma, and that these contributed to her inability to face her deepest fears. Unfortunately, those kinds of ailments, disabilities in their own right, could not be cured on entrance to San Junipero. ‘Should they be?’ Yorkie thought. Was part of the joy of San Junipero the opportunity to work it out? The second chances, the space to breathe, the sense of agency, the freedom of will…these were the things that had been withheld from Yorkie and Patsy in the living years. San Junipero presented the opportunity to reclaim them. 

Yorkie rode her bike to the living archives library, in the center of town. As she passed by the credit union, she remembered she wanted to check her balance to make sure she had enough for a down payment on the club. She felt empowered; her family had never given her the opportunity to make decisions on her own, even though she was fully capable of reason. From the moment she had revealed her homosexuality to them, it was as though she had died, become a kind of invalid, and the car accident only reinforced that. 

Yorkie strode into the archives. It sure smelled like a library, of paper and, faintly, of old wood. She approached the directory. “Librarian of Living Culture, Fifth Floor.”

Yorkie took the elevator to the fifth floor and approached the librarian on staff. She found the woman behind the desk to be rather pleasant. “Morning, miss,” the librarian spoke in a Caribbean accent. 

“G-good morning,” Yorkie said, suddenly self-conscious. She had never visited a research library. “My name is Yorkie and –“

“Yorkie?” The woman repeated, a faint smile appearing on her lips. “Like the dog breed?”

Yorkie rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Yes. That’s what my wife said the first time we met.”

Lucille laughed. “Well. It is a very sweet name. How can I help? What are you looking for?”

Yorkie took a deep breath, mustering the courage to explain her intentions. “Well, you see, I am considering opening a lesbian bar in San Junipero.”

Lucille beamed, “Wow that would be legendary! You’d like some information on lesbian bar culture in the living world?”

Yorkie nodded. “Yes, but I’m looking for something very specific.”

Lucille nodded, “A time period or region?”

“Both,” Yorkie nodded. “London in the ‘60s, perhaps?”

Lucille’s eyes widened. She nodded slowly. “I am familiar with the time and place. I used to work there. I’m from Jamaica but I moved there for work. I do remember…” She closed her eyes tightly, and suddenly an informatics screen appeared before them. Lucille gestured in the air. “This club was in Chelsea, if you can believe it.”

Yorkie shook her head, “I’m not familiar. I’m from California.”

“Right,” Lucille said. “It’s a very upscale neighborhood today, but this bar was more like an underground dive.” She swiped furiously, and suddenly a set of photos turned up picturing women dancing and embracing. “That’s it. Gateways. The Gateways Club was a famous lesbian bar, dancehall in the midcentury. Before the gay liberation movement, you see.”

Yorkie nodded, “That’s perfect. What more can you tell me?”

Lucille squinted and pulled up more information. “Well, it often required a password to enter. Pretty diverse crowd it seems. Live music, often. Sounds grand, actually, doesn’t it?”

Yorkie nodded nervously. 

Lucille swiped some more. “Ah, see, parts of a feature film were shot there. The Killing of Sister George. Supposed to be quite a famous scene, in fact. Shall we watch?”

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tm0lbu3Gr3k)

The lights dimmed in the room, and Lucille pulled up the scene. They marveled at the utterly strange story playing out. The music was delightful, and there appeared to be extras who had really attended the dance club. Yorkie took notes on the décor, the clothing, and the style furiously. There seemed to be some drama playing out between two women in costume, a Laurel and Hardy getup. 

Yorkie laughed, “They go from slow to fast dancing on cue. And they keep yelling ‘gangway!’ What does that even mean?”

Lucille grinned, “It means, GET OUT OF THE WAY. Suppose when you’re elbowing through a crowd to get to the bar!” 

Both women laughed. Lucille printed off some information and handed it over to Yorkie. Yorkie nodded. “Lucille, thank you! This is exactly what I needed.” 

Lucille beamed. Yorkie turned to leave. “And Yorkie,” Lucille called after her. “Let me know when this club opens up! I would fancy myself a dance with one of those ladies from the band.”

Yorkie smiled. “Sure, I will.” 

Yorkie bypassed the elevator and skipped down the staircase, two at a time. She was consistently surprised at how many women she met in town who were like her, or at least interested. She thought she might do a good business with this club. 

< >

Saturday evening rolled around, and Patsy took Trixie to the bar “Sylvester’s,” on the same corner where Tucker’s was located in the ‘80s. Trixie marveled at the space. 

“How fun!” She squealed. She grasped Patsy’s hand. “Imagine what fun we would have had together in the ‘70s, with the music and these ridiculous pants.” She gestured down at her bell bottoms; they were itchy, polyester, but they fit her nicely. 

The two women approached Yorkie and Kelly, who were perched on bar stools in a corner.

“Yorkie, Kelly, this is my old friend Trixie Franklin. We knew each other as nurses in London,” Patsy said. The women greeted each other warmly. 

“My, Kelly. I do love that jacket,” Trixie raved. Kelly had selected a deep burgundy, cropped, suede jacket for the evening. 

“Don’t bother saying anything about my outfit,” Yorkie laughed. She wore simple flared jeans and an itchy looking sweater. 

The women laughed. 

“So, Pats, guess what?” Kelly said. 

“Kelly…” Yorkie warned. 

“What?” Trixie and Patsy yelped at the same time. 

“Thought we weren’t going to tell her!” Yorkie whined. 

“I changed my mind,” Kelly snapped. “Yorkie put down a deposit – she’s going to open a bar.”

Patsy beamed, “How wonderful, Yorkie. Kelly, why wouldn’t you want me know that?”

Yorkie stared down into her drink. 

“What?!” Patsy urged. 

“It’s a lesbian bar, isn’t it?” Trixie surmised. 

Kelly and Yorkie glanced up. 

“How did you know?” Yorkie asked. 

“Well, deductive reasoning of a sort…You are opening a bar, but you’re afraid to tell Patsy. Must be the kind of bar that would make Patsy nervous. Must be a gay bar. Must be a gay bar in the…‘60s?” Trixie smarted.

Yorkie’s eyes widened. 

Trixie laughed, “We’ve known each other a long time.”

The women turned to gauge Patsy’s reaction, but she was gone. 

Yorkie stood to follow her friend outside, but Trixie stopped her. “Let me handle this, Sweetie.” 

Trixie stepped outside of the bar. Rain poured. It seemed that Patsy had triggered a storm all on her own. She caught up with Patsy across the street. She was standing under an awning and dragging on a cigarette. Trixie sidled up to her, lit a cigarette of her own, and stood in silence with her friend for a minute or so.

“The nerve…” Patsy murmured. 

The two stood smoking for several moments. 

“Patsy, how did you die?” Trixie asked, startling her friend with the question.

“What? How…?”

“Yes, sweetie. How did you die?”

Patsy smirked. “Take a wild guess.” 

The two women laughed. Trixie snorted, holding down more boisterous laughter. “Right. I always wondered how quickly I would have quit the habit had I known lung cancer was all but inevitable. I only quit after I had children, thinking it wasn’t smart to fill the house with smoke.” 

Patsy sighed, bothered by the conversation. 

“But it seems,” Trixie continued cleverly, “It seems that here in San Junipero, you can pursue things that may have seemed dangerous in the living world. Isn’t that right?”

Patsy shrugged, “I don’t know. Sure, I mean, Yorkie drives and rides a bike, and she spent most of her life unable to walk. I have seen her working out those skills in the middle of the road a couple of times. Kelly drove off the road on purpose one time. If you turn the pain dial down -”

“I’m glad you can resume the habit that killed you,” Trixie interrupted.

“What are you on about, Trix?” Patsy snapped. 

“It seems I’ve been conspiring with Yorkie and Kelly behind your back, and I’d never even met them!”

“Trixie, I have no idea what you’re talking about and I’m about to turn around and go home.”

“Seems we’ve all been working to get you and Delia together, if it’s possible.”

Patsy looked up at her friend. “How do you mean?”

Trixie turned to face her friend squarely. “Listen, Patsy. I sent my daughter Joan out to find Delia.”

Patsy stared, mouth agape. “How could you, Trixie?”

“How couldn’t I? You’re miserable. And you jumped through whatever hoops you had to go through to get here. And you’re spending your time sulking around Yorkie and Kelly and they only want to see you happy. Hell, Patsy, I haven’t seen you in, what, half a decade? You’re exactly the same. Same heartbreak, same fears. What are you going to do, spend eternity never going after what your heart wants?”

Patsy sighed. She stared off into the distance. The rain seemed to cease. She turned to Trixie, “Alright, Trix. Let’s – let’s give this all a go. Let’s find out.”

Trixie squealed and clapped her hands. “That’s my girl. You’re courageous, and you’re full of love. That’s who you are, Patsy.”

Patsy stubbed out her cigarette and linked arms with her old friend as they returned to the bar. “Trixie,” she said, as her lips quirked up in a smirk, “If your daughter decides to join you here, you’ll be the same age, you realize?” 

Trixie stopped and stared straight ahead. Patsy roared with laughter.


	4. An Unexpected Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie's daughters take a road trip to Wales, in search of Delia Busby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy a full chapter featuring Delia. Sorry to jump on the "evil Mrs. Busby" train, but it fit the story line.

Cardiff, sometime around the present

“Barbara,” Joan asked. “Could you confirm this is the right direction? For a capital city there are awfully long stretches of…I don’t know…” She seemed to mutter under her breath.

“Long stretches of nothing!” Barbara supplied. She was feeling well enough to accompany her sister to the residence of a Ms. Delia Busby, aged 82. “Well, you know,” Barbara said as she zoomed in on the digital map, “We’re a little ways away from the main drag, if you will.” 

“Right,” Joan grunted. 

Before long, they pulled up to a small house with the matching address. Joan found parking easily in the road. She turned off the car and turned to her sister. 

“Well,” Joan sighed. 

“I guess this is it!” Barbara laughed. Her laugh, her smile, and today her wig, evoked a young Trixie. 

“This is so unusual,” Joan murmured, as she peered out the window and studied the simple house. She sighed, “Let’s get on with it, then.”

The sisters waited at the front door for a good minute after knocking. It seemed like there was commotion on the bottom floor of the house, so they assumed someone was there. Eventually, the door creaked open and there stood a young man, aged somewhere in his 20s, with curly brown hair and gentle, blue eyes. He was tall and lanky, clad in skinny jeans and a black t-shirt.

“Hello,” he greeted the two women with a friendly smile. “May I help you?”

Joan smiled and glanced at her sister, who nodded encouragingly. 

“I’m Joan James and this is my sister, Barbara. I am wondering if…Well, we’re looking for a Ms. Delia Busby. Does she live here?”

The young man looked over his shoulder briefly and stepped outside on the doorstep with the women. He smiled, “Well, that’s my Gran. Can I help? What – why are you looking for her? I’m Nathaniel, by the way.” He stuck out his hand to formally greet both women. 

Joan took a deep breath and explained, “My mother – her name was Trixie Franklin before she was married. Well, I am wondering if your grandmother used to work as a nurse in London. Do you know anything about that?”

He smiled broadly, “Yeah, Gran worked in the East End. Before she was even married, I am pretty sure. What’s this regarding?”

Barbara smiled, “We’re the daughters of Trixie Franklin. Your grandmother would have known our mother during her time there.”

Nathaniel nodded, “Is everything alright?”

Joan nodded good-naturedly. “Oh, yes, of course. My mother was asking after your grandmother. We weren’t sure if – well, if she was still living and if so, where she was living. I guess we lucked out!”

Nathaniel regarded the women quizzically. He smiled and lowered his voice, “My grandmother’s time in London was very important to her. When she’s in the right mood she tells stories. But I don’t think she’s seen or spoken to anyone from her time there in decades. I’m not sure, though. Look…Would you mind waiting out here a few minutes? Gran’s upstairs and I’m going to go up there to let her know you’ve called. Trixie Franklin, you say, was her friend’s name?”

The sisters nodded. They were both smiling from ear to ear. They had found Delia. 

Nathaniel squinted, “There was another woman too, another friend? From London?”

Joan narrowed her eyes at Nathaniel. She nodded cautiously. Before she spoke, Nathaniel raised a finger as if to ask them to wait. He disappeared behind the door. 

“He meant Patsy?” Barbara whispered. 

Joan nodded, “I think so, Babs.”

“How romantic this all is,” Barbara marveled, her eyes sparkling. 

Joan took her sister’s hand. “It sure is, love.” 

Nathaniel returned, a mischievous smile on his face. “It’s your lucky day, ladies. Gran’s very interested. I haven’t seen her eyes sparkle like that in ages, when I mentioned your mother. Come on in. She’ll be down momentarily and I’ll start the tea.”

Joan’s eyes widened. She turned to Barbara and back to Nathaniel. “I can’t believe it,” she gasped. 

Nathaniel nodded, “This is wild!”

The two women sat at a table in the modest kitchen. They heard a creaking noise as Nathaniel and his grandmother made their way downstairs. A small, elderly woman with dark grey hair and sparkling blue eyes appeared. She used a walker to steady herself, but she seemed healthy, and entirely “with it” mentally. Nathaniel walked behind her, towering above her with his arms clasped behind his back.

Joan and Barbara stood. “Mrs. – Ms. – Busby. Thank you for inviting us in.” 

“You look like your mother, both of you,” Delia exclaimed, in a delightful and distinct Welsh accent. She waved her hand as though to ask them to sit. Nathaniel helped his grandmother into a chair and went to prepare tea. 

Joan started to speak. She made several attempts before she managed to form words. “Ma’am, you remember my mother, Trixie Franklin?”

Delia smiled and nodded. “Mmm, very well. Trixie was delightful. Good for a laugh, all the time. And a wonderful nurse. Beautiful, too. Is your mother well?” She asked.

Barbara nodded, “She is. Do you know – I was named after another girl you may have known, Barbara Gilbert?”

Delia nodded and smiled, bearing her full set of pristine teeth. “Of course. What a darling woman.”

Barbara smiled down at the table, “She died quite young, while still working at Nonnatus, actually.”

Delia canted her head and frowned, “My dear, how awful. I’d not known. My goodness. What a waste of a bright young life. What happened?”

Joan’s lips twitched. She spoke softly, “I think it was meningitis or septicemia, something like that.” 

Delia shook her head and lowered her eyes. A tear dropped onto the table.

“Oh, Ms. Busby, I’m awfully sorry the conversation took that turn. We should talk about our mother, you’d find her quite the same!” Barbara said good naturedly.

Delia looked up and smiled warmly, “I don’t doubt it. Still boy crazy, I gather?”

The sisters laughed. Nathaniel turned around to deliver the tea. “Boy crazy? I must meet her!”

Delia squealed with delight. She reached out to hold Nathaniel’s hand as he sat. “He takes after me,” Delia winked.

Joan narrowed her eyes, “You mean, boy crazy?”

Delia laughed, “No dear. Queer!”

Everyone at the table went up in laughter. After they quieted, Joan and Delia shared a meaningful look. 

Delia took a sip of tea and stared over Joan’s shoulder in a bit of a daze. She cleared her throat. She struggled with her emotions. “And Patsy? Surely you’ve heard of Patsy.”

Nathaniel was rapt, his eyes wide and his head craned in towards the center of the table. Joan smiled. Spontaneously, she reached across the table to hold Delia’s hand. 

“Ma’am, Delia…To be honest, we – my mother and Barbara and I – we weren’t expecting you to remember much at all.” Joan couldn’t imagine spending a lifetime longing for something that was only just out of arm’s reach. 

Delia looked down at her hands, her face gone soft and sad. “I’m sure, dear. I’m sure it comes as a surprise based on what your mother knows of me. Dears,” she cast her across the three. “Might I explain myself a bit, tell a story? I’m sure it will help you understand a bit more about me and perhaps justify some of my actions over the years.” Her voice betrayed a certain eagerness, a bottled up desire to have the chance to tell this story. 

“Oh, Gran,” Nathaniel whispered, reaching for his grandmother’s hand. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Delia nodded, “Yes, cariad, don’t worry.” She patted his hand.

Barbara nodded, “Yes, ma’am, please understand that we didn’t come here to upset you.”

Delia smiled, “No, in fact. I dare say…this is one of the most exciting days I’ve had in a while!”

Joan smiled, “Well, Ms. Busby, do then go on.”

Nathaniel laughed in delight. He encouraged, “Tell us your story, Gran.” 

“Well, alright,” she smiled. “At Nonnatus, that year when Patsy and I became so close, that was when I had my cycling accident, you see. It was the day after we moved in together, into this dusty little flat in the East End.”

Joan nodded, “Right, our mother remembered that.”

Delia nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. It was quite traumatic. My mother brought me back to Wales, to our house, over in Pembrokeshire. When my memory started to come back, I still had no memory of the accident, no memory of what happened from the time my head hit the pavement until shortly after my mother brought me home. But I remembered the people from my life. I remembered Nonnatus; I remembered I was a nurse; I remembered Patsy. At the time, I was confused, but I did remember.” 

Delia took a deep breath and gathered her thoughts. She looked around the table to gauge the reactions of her audience. Joan smiled warmly, encouragingly.

Delia put down her tea and continued, “I had trouble with short term memory, and oddly, some difficulty recognizing faces I should have known. Anyhow, I asked my mother about Patsy, and she told me she knew of no such person, and that she wasn’t sure if I was remembering correctly. I was so scared and sad. Somehow, I thought Patsy would have come for me or she would have found a way to be in touch. She was so vivid a picture in my head, her face, her hair, her eyes. She still is.”

Nathaniel gasped, taken aback by his grandmother’s honesty. He raised a hand to his mouth. Suddenly his family story felt very different. 

Delia paused and took a deep breath. She sipped her tea. “Shall I go on, then?”

Everyone sitting around the table nodded. 

Delia sighed, “I say, more than a year passed before my memory sorted and I got my motor skills back. I was dying to return to London, to nursing, to Patsy. I made an overture to do so, and my mother was strongly opposed. She was so emotional about it. I thought it would break her heart if I left. And, as Patsy hadn’t written, hadn’t dropped in…I figured, what were the chances that life would be the same for me in London?”

“Oh, my dear,” Barbara gasped. She grabbed Joan’s hand. 

“In the midst of all this, my mother introduced me to a young man. He was called Simon Stewart. His father was English but the family had moved to Wales when Simon came for university. My mother met Simon when he came to work for the little company that did the books for the small businesses in town. He would drop in on my father’s drapery shop from time to time. We got to know each other. My parents suggested to me that they would be supportive should we decide to marry. Simon would do well, open an accounting business of his own. Being close to the family would serve me well, be best for my health, that’s what Mam said.”

“Gran, didn’t you object? You knew you were going against your true self! She was gaslighting you!” Nathaniel started. He looked to Joan and Barbara for reinforcement. 

“Nathaniel, cariad,” Delia continued. “I don’t know what this gaslighting is, but this was 1962. It was Wales. What were the chances I would find a woman, someone who compared to Patsy Mount, at that? I already believed I’d lost her.” 

Nathaniel looked down at his hands. He was quiet.

Delia sighed, and looked up at her tea companions; she looked them each in the eye. “I married Simon. It was not a good marriage. He had a problem with alcohol and I…well, you know…But, I had two wonderful children, Gareth and Patricia. I kept my name, against everyone’s wishes, because…well, I wanted to keep a part of myself and I wanted to make it easy for Patsy to find me.”

“Wow!” Barbara exclaimed. “Did you name your daughter after Patsy?”

Delia nodded and smiled. “Well, Patsy’s name is Patience, as you may know. That would have been too obvious, had I given her that same name. But, yes, I did. I rather missed calling after someone named ‘Pats.’ As heartbreaking as it was.” 

Nathaniel beamed. “That’s my mum, Pat, well, Patricia. She never went by Patsy.” 

Delia nodded, and continued, “I left something out. Let me back up a few years…Before I agreed to marry Simon, I telephoned Nonnatus House. One day, I mustered the nerve and I tucked into a booth and picked up the phone and called. This is the Delia your mam might remember, a defiant girl. So, I called. A nun must have answered, someone I didn’t know. I asked after Patsy and she told me that Patsy had gone abroad and was not expected to return. I was so upset, I slammed down the phone. She had gone, left without me. It was all over.”

Delia smiled weakly as tears trailed down her cheeks. She took a deep breath. 

Nathaniel knelt down next to his grandmother. He whispered, “Gran, do you need a break. Are you tired?”

Delia shook her head. She patted his hand asked, “Might I have a glass of water?”

Nathaniel nodded and went to retrieve her water. 

Joan smiled warmly. “Thank you for telling us all of this,” she said.

Delia nodded and took a sip of water. She cleared her throat and continued, thoughtfully, “Time passed. My husband passed as well, in an accident in the ‘80s. You know, when someone who isn’t good to you dies, it’s bittersweet. There was something inside him that was so damaged, and I felt sadly for him. After he passed I really started to want to know more about Patsy. I asked my children to do some research. It wasn’t easy back then without the Google! But, they found out she was in New York, and that she was a professor. I knew she had moved on, that she must have had a good life in New York.”

“You never tried to contact her after you called Nonnatus that time?” Barbara asked.

Delia shook her head. She sighed, “No, I didn’t. Who was I? A widow in Wales? But there is one other thing. It was after Mam had passed and when my father was sick, when he was close to death…My father told me that Patsy had sent a couple of letters, and that my mother had destroyed them without telling me. Oh, what a heartbreaking thing to hear, that someone else had sabotaged your chance for a life.”

Delia’s three younger companions shook their heads. They all wiped tears from their eyes.

Delia trailed off and shrugged, “I guess that’s it. But, girls, do tell me, how is your mother?”

Joan smiled, “She’s doing well for an old thing, as she would say.”

Delia smiled, “I can hear Trixie or Patsy saying that, yes.”

Barbara nodded, “She’s declining in health, rather like me, but she’s still as lovely and lively as ever!”

Delia nodded towards Barbara, “And you dear?”

Barbara smiled weakly, “Stage 4 breast cancer.”

Nathaniel gasped, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Barbara shook her head, “That’s alright, love. You know I beat it, years ago. I had a great few years. It came back. That’s that,” she nodded. She chuckled, “And, I get to take after my mother with these fabulous blonde wigs.” She smoothed her hand over her blonde, pixie style wig. 

Delia chuckled, “Sounds like something I would say. Well, I hope you beat it again. Do as the kids say, and ‘kick it to the curb!’”

Everyone laughed. 

Delia settled in her seat. She glanced between Joan and Barbara. “Do either of you know anything about Patience Mount?”

Joan looked up. She started to speak, but she was so overcome with emotion that she had trouble speaking. 

“Oh, dear, what is it?” Delia pleaded. 

Barbara leaned towards Delia. “Ma’am, Patsy’s asked after you. She’s spoken to our mother about you. That’s really why we’re here.”

Delia gasped, “Is it…I’m sorry…Is this true?”

Joan nodded. “It’s complicated, Ms. Busby.”

Delia laughed, wiping her tears. “Surely!”

Nathaniel shook his head. He exclaimed, “I don’t even know what to say to all this!”

“Tell me,” Delia pleaded. “Tell me what this is all about. Patsy is still living?”

“That’s…” Joan started.

“Ma’am,” Barbara started, relieving her flustered sister. “I’m sorry to tell you this but Patience Mount passed, I think several years ago.”

Delia’s eyes widened. She looked shattered and pleaded to Barbara, “No…Dear…I thought you said she’d asked after me. Was this before she died?”

Joan put her head in her hands. “Ms. Busby…”

Nathaniel perked up and placed his hands on the table, as though he was about to from launch out of his seat. He practically yelped, “San Junipero!”

Joan sighed, relieved. She nodded and confirmed, “Yes, Ms. Busby. Have you heard of San Junipero?”

Delia narrowed her eyes. She scoffed, “I find it absurd and, well, rather sacrilege.”

Nathaniel shook his head and implored, “Gran, you never gave it a chance!”

Barbara leaned in towards Delia. She encouraged, “Ma’am, our mother’s been visiting. She’s been considering going full time there.”

Joan nodded, “And Patsy lives there. Full time.”

Delia shook her head, “So, you came to tell me that Patsy is dead?”

Nathaniel shook his head. He protested, “Gran, they came to tell you that you have a chance!”

Joan tilted her head. She pursed her lips and smiled weakly. Delia was succumbing to fits of tears. She spoke, cautiously, though she had trouble controlling the shaking in her own voice, “Ms. Busby. We came to tell you, well, our mother sent us to tell you that Patsy resides full-time in San Junipero. She moved there because she felt it was the only chance she would have to see you again.”

Delia gasped. She stared at Joan. 

Barbara laughed and smiled, “Patsy still loves you. She never stopped loving you, her whole life.”

Delia turned to Barbara and nodded. Her voice shook as she spoke, “Well, I’m the same. In fact…Excuse me, would you wait here a moment?” Delia rose from her seat and batted Nathaniel’s hand away when he offered to help her. She made her way into her living room to rummage through a cabinet.

The entire group went silent. They eyed one another, all of them dumbfounded by the situation. 

Nathaniel stood. “Right. I’ll be right back,” he announced. He retreated upstairs. 

Delia returned to the table. She eyed Joan and Barbara, though her expression was hard to read. She opened a small journal and removed a photograph. She passed it across the table.

Joan studied the photograph. It was two young women, one tall and elegant, the other petite and pretty. They looked so happy. She smiled and asked, “Is this you and Patsy?”

Delia nodded. She said, wistfully, “I found this picture in this journal a couple of years after my accident.” She tapped her fingers on her teacup and studied the photo in the center of the table. “If Patsy was so in love with me, why didn’t she come and find me?” 

Joan shrugged, “Maybe for the same reasons you didn’t go and find her.”

Delia nodded. She sighed, “I really don’t think I see myself going to this computer place. Nathaniel and my children really had to work to convince me it wasn’t a scam!” Delia chuckled. She shook her head, “Amazing I’ve lived long enough to see a thing like this.”

Barbara tilted her head in thought. “Ms. Busby, if you feel well enough, would you like to come back to London with us for a few days? You can visit with Mum.”

Joan beamed, “That’s a brilliant idea!”

“What is?” Nathaniel asked as he reentered the kitchen. He dropped a stack of brochures on the table. 

“I can’t believe you kept these,” Delia said, looking up at her grandson with a smirk.

“I did. I hid them in your bedroom closet hoping you would find them one day.” He turned to Joan and explained, “These are the brochures they send to the elderly. Gran thought San Junipero was a scam at first, but I think she buys it now. Right, Gran?”

Delia shrugged and threw up her hands, “I suppose I do, although I can’t really see myself going.”

Barbara smiled, “My mother would be there with you. And you don’t have to do anything scary on the first night, I don’t think. And actually, Ms. Busby, I’ll be visiting soon, too.” She turned to Joan, who was staring down at the table. Barbara whispered to her sister, “It’s only true, Joanie.”

Delia smiled sadly. “I’m so sorry for your circumstance, dear.”

Barbara shrugged, and she smiled quite like Trixie would have. “Well, now I’m rather excited!”

Delia turned to Nathaniel. “Dear, would you pack me a bag, please, for a weekend? I’ll travel back to London with Joan and Barbara on their invitation.”

He clapped his hands, “Legendary! May I ask, could I join for a ride? I live in London, in Shoreditch, not too far from the old nunnery.”

Joan laughed, “Nathaniel, sorry. We haven’t had a chance to ask you anything about yourself. But of course, I suppose a long car ride is a good time to remedy that.”

“Come on, Gran. Let’s go upstairs and get ready. We are going on a trip, I guess,” Nathaniel said.

Delia groaned, “Sounds like I may be going on a loooong trip.”

After about an hour, the four piled into Joan’s car and set off towards London.


	5. The New Dive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yorkie, Kelly, and Patsy work on the new bar. Trixie and Delia reunite. Patsy receives word on her destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the new faces!

Yorkie skipped into the register’s office, Kelly in tow. It was a rare moment Yorkie would run ahead of her self-possessed and energetic wife, but today was special. She was about to sign the deed for the new night club, which she decided to call “Georgette’s,” named after the silly Gateways club scene she had watched with Lucille. 

“Well, hello,” the proprietor greeted upon their entrance. She smiled broadly, “I am so thrilled to sign away San Junipero’s first gay bar. And to think it will be a ladies’ hangout! I was able to get your ownership for the club from 1955 to 1985, so anyone visiting those years will have the option of entering, year appropriate, of course. I hope to stop by and find myself a honey too! The only tricky thing is you will need to find different staff for each year, and alter the décor.”

Kelly laughed, choosing to ignore the hours of work ahead of them. “Why is this town filled with dykes?”

Yorkie blanched at the colloquialism, which she associated mostly with violence. She responded, “Maybe because life kind of sucked on the other side?”

Kelly shook her head, “I won’t complain!”

Yorkie shook off her lover’s choice of words and clapped her hands in delight. She nodded to the register, “Anyway, thank you! I’m so excited!” 

“My pleasure.” 

“Wanna go check it out?” Yorkie asked Kelly.

Kelly groaned, “Yes, and think about alllll the work we have to do getting it ready. And getting it ready year-by-year and decade-by-decade.”

“It’ll sort itself out, ladies,” called a husky voice.

Kelly and Yorkie turned. “Patsy!” 

Patsy flashed her trademark, lopsided smile. Yorkie approached her and took both her hands. She leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. 

“I’m glad you could make it, Pats,” Yorkie said, softly. 

Patsy nodded. She quipped, “Well, you know me, I couldn’t stand knowing you two would be in there scrubbing it down and organizing without my help.” She pointed to a large box filled with cleaning supplies. 

“You’re a dreamboat,” Yorkie cooed. 

“Ladies, stop flirting and let’s get some lunch. I am starving,” Kelly protested.

“She’s not my type, Kelly, you know that,” Patsy retorted. “We’re too similar. Tall, ginger. Would never work.”

Yorkie laughed, “Yes, we finally know your type.”

Kelly teased, “Short, busty, brunette? Bodacious, with a booty to match?”

Patsy flashed bright red. She had an image of a young Delia in all her beauty and…bounty. She was lost for words for a moment. She felt rather like a handsy patient on male surgical. 

Kelly laughed, “Good lord, Mount. I have never seen you so flustered. I can’t wait to meet this woman.”

Patsy opened her mouth to protest, in much the same way she had with Delia, that time Delia had asked Patsy to share a flat with her. And this time, as then, she had no words. She just shook her head and removed a cigarette from her purse. 

“No smoking in here, ladies,” called the register. 

“Of course, sorry,” Patsy apologized. 

“Alright, chop chop. Let’s go,” Kelly ordered. “Lunch. And then let’s meet in 1965 in the new dive.”

Patsy took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. “Why not, say, 1980?” She asked. 

Kelly waved a finger in front of her face. She scolded, “Look, Mount. Here’s the deal. You wanna help us set this place up, you come back to the beginning with us. In fact, why don’t we go way back? 1955?”

Patsy held up her hands as if in defeat. “Fine, 1965. I submit,” she said. 

The three women walked out into the San Junipero sunshine, and faded out to a place from the past. 

< >

Trixie gazed out the window from her kitchen while stirring the milk in her tea. She had been waiting all day for her daughters to come back with some news. After a few minutes of daydreaming, she heard a car motor come close and quiet. She walked over to the front door to greet her brood.

“Mum!” She heard Joan call. 

“I’m here, dear,” she called back. 

“Put on a pot of tea!” Joan called back from the other side of the door.

“Is it that bad?” Trixie worried under her breath. She turned to do as her daughter asked. 

She heard a cacophony of shuffling feet and voices. It sounded like more than two people, and there was a distinctly male voice in the mix. She set down her kitchen towel and meandered out to the living room to see about the commotion.

“Joan? Barbara?” Trixie called. 

“No, just me, Trix,” chirped a pleasant voice. There, in her entryway, stood an elderly but utterly recognizable Delia Busby.

“Delia Busby! Is that really you?” Trixie exclaimed.

“Yes, it’s me, dear!” 

Trixie rushed forward and enveloped her old friend in a hug. They both cried tears of joy and, perhaps, surprise. “You’re just beautiful,” Trixie exclaimed through her tears. 

Joan, Barbara, and Nathaniel appeared in tow. 

“Ma’am, I’m Nathaniel. I’m Delia’s grandson,” he greeted. 

“Hello, dear,” Trixie acknowledged. “Delia, I wasn’t expecting you but I’m delighted. We do have so much catching up to do.”

Delia smiled, “It was your daughter Barbara. She asked if I wanted to come back to see you and I couldn’t resist.”

Trixie smiled, “I’m so glad. Come, let’s make our way out to the sitting room.”

“Wait, Trix,” Delia started. “I can’t stand it. Tell me. How is she?”

Trixie smiled. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes. Her whole life, Trixie had imagined seeing her two friends unite, true to how she had always felt, as though their love was preordained. She knew it was one of the purest, truest loves she had ever witnessed. Trixie was not one for holding metaphysical beliefs, but this was one relationship she had trouble explaining in worldly terms. 

“Patsy – she’s fine. She’s herself. Which means…she’s obsessed with cleaning; she’s reluctant to talk about herself; and she is madly in love with you,” Trixie responded. 

Delia gasped at the last phrase. Trixie spoke of their love as though it were the most mundane thing, as though the fact of it could be taken for granted. Delia wondered how she had allowed such a gift, such a love, the kind that others look to for inspiration, slip away. 

Delia composed herself and took a deep breath. “Trixie,” she sighed. “I’d like to visit with you. To see her. But, I need a little more time to get ready. Does Patsy expect me?”

Trixie shook her head. She sighed, “I’m not sure. She wishes for you, but she is scared. I’m not sure how she would react if you were to just turn up. In some ways maybe it would be better, so she wouldn’t have time to ruminate on it. But, really, whatever makes you the most comfortable is what we’ll do.”

The tea kettle whistled and Trixie remembered she had put the water on. Nathaniel jumped over to the hob to manage the tea. The four others retreated to the living room to talk. 

“There’s so much I want to know about you, Delia,” Trixie began.

“I know,” Delia replied. “And you too. Your daughters are so lovely.” She nodded in their direction and smiled. 

“And your grandson!” Trixie replied. “He’s so charming!” Trixie smiled in Nathaniel’s direction. He was propping up a tray of tea and carrying it out to the living room. 

“We’ve been utterly charmed all day,” Joan said, nodding in Nathaniel’s direction.

“I was so glad to hear Gran had some friends in San Junipero. I’ve been encouraging her to give the place a go,” Nathaniel said. 

Trixie nodded, “Yes, Delia. I tried for the first time several weeks ago. I really had such a nice visit. It helps when…” Trixie caught herself before she finished her thought.

“When you see an old friend?” Delia asked. 

Trixie smiled. She explained, “I really wasn’t expecting it. We were in 1984. I was wearing a ridiculous outfit – light washed denim, a pink crop top. I’m walking and the sun is blinding me and then there she is, Patsy Mount. She looked just the same.”

“You mean? The same as when she was at Nonnatus?”

Trixie nodded, “Yes. Just the same.”

Delia looked down at her hands. “I don’t suppose…” She didn’t finish the question.

“Delia,” Trixie said gently, “I daresay whatever you’re thinking about her motivations is probably correct. But, it would be better if you let her tell you.”

Delia looked up into Trixie’s eyes. “Tell me, Trix. What made you decide to visit?”

Trixie smiled at her daughter Barbara. She answered, “Well, it took a little bit of work for my daughters to convince me. Have you a daughter, Delia?”

“Yes, and one son. Patricia and Gareth.”

Trixie laughed, “Oh, Delia. That is lovely. Well, Barbara was really the one who did all the research for me. Did you know I named my Barbara after Nurse Gilbert?”

Delia nodded, her eyes glistening. “I did. And I was so sorry to hear of her passing so young.”

Trixie nodded and smiled. “Well, before we flood the interiors, here, let’s talk about some more pleasant things! I daresay we have all eternity to dish on San Junipero. I want to hear all about your life, up to when this charming man came into it!” Trixie gestured to Nathaniel and smiled. “He does have your eyes!”

Nathaniel blushed and smiled at his grandmother. With a heavy sigh, Joan stood up and motioned to leave the room. “Mum, Ms. Busby, I must excuse myself. It’s been quite a day. I’m going to go upstairs and wash up and rest for a moment or two. Or three,” Joan chuckled tiredly.

The others nodded. Delia turned to Joan, “Thank you, dear, for visiting today, and for inviting me back. I will see you once you’re rested.”

Joan nodded and retreated upstairs. Barbara watched her go and turned to her mother with a sad smile. The room went silent as the mixed emotions of the day hung in the air.

Delia smiled cheerily and lifted her teacup as though to toast. She laughed, “Well! We’ve sixty or so years’ worth of life to recap!”

Trixie winked. She replied, coyly, “Well, dear, you don’t have to tell me all of it today if you agree to come stay in San Junipero with us!”

Delia laughed. They certainly had a lot to discuss.

< >

Patsy posted up on a barstool in the corner of the new place to smoke a cigarette. After scrubbing up the floor, she felt she deserved a break. It was an underground venue, mostly concrete with some old wood furnishings. It had space for a full bar and a podium for live music or performances. The place was covered in dust, but the overall space seemed to have integrity.

Yorkie and Kelly were bickering in the corner about where to install the jukebox. On a ladder, a contractor was working out a plan for lighting. On the floor behind the bar, a plumber was puzzling over the water lines. 

Patsy closed her eyes amid the bustle, thinking about how she’d always dreamed of setting up home with Delia, after their first chance had been stolen from them. She had often imagined finding a new, dusty apartment in a walkup building in some city somewhere, perhaps London, maybe New York, possibly even Paris. All that really mattered was that Delia was there. As time wore on over the course of her life, it was those opportunities she regretted most deeply.

Patsy reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out an old wallet. It held a crinkled picture of her and Delia; she had carried it with her every single day of her life, and every single day of whatever progress she’d made on eternity’s timeline. She ran her finger over the old print, as though this could approximate the feeling of running her fingertips over her lover’s skin. Those sensations of touching Delia had never left her. If anything, their memory seemed to burn deeper into her skin. With the pain dial at its highest level, she could almost feel the electricity of human touch through the photograph. In the living world, Patsy had an ungodly tolerance for pain. It only seemed to be amplified in San Junipero. What would register to anyone else as a shock or a sting were to her only momentary reminders of being alive in a body dulled to almost all forms of pain. 

Patsy had never told Yorkie or Kelly she experienced the pain dial that way. She had learned over the years that it was better not to burden people with the trauma of your own past. The pain dial was like a little gift to her, to keep her connected. It was though she could manipulate it for her own ends. Maybe it served that purpose for everyone, and no one ever said anything about it to anyone else. 

Patsy’s rumination was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the staircase. 

“Alright?” The voice of a Londoner, probably a multi-generational Eastender, echoed down through the concrete tunnel. 

“May I help?” Patsy projected in her iciest voice, still unsure who this person could be. 

A woman with short, brown hair and androgynous clothing entered. She put her hands on her hips and stared around the room, a grin on her face. She nodded. 

“And you are?” Patsy asked again.

The woman stuck out her hand. She greeted, “Valerie. Dyer. I hear London in your voice! Not the same kind of London as me, I daresay, but London for sure.”

Patsy laughed. “You’re right. I was a boarder throughout my school days and my father ran a business overseas. I only ever learned to speak “posh,” though you’d be surprised at how much of my life I spent in decidedly non-posh environs.”

Valerie nodded. “I’m from around the docks, Poplar. Ran a pub for my family over there in the ‘60s and ‘70s, so when I saw a new dive was being put in here, I got excited. Come to find out it’s a girls’ bar! Now, I am even more excited!”

Patsy smiled good-naturedly. She liked this woman. She rather thought if Delia never appeared again, she’d be good for a go. Patsy had that streak in her, of wooing cute women. 

“I’m Patience Mount. People call me Patsy, though. I say, we may have crossed paths once or twice. I worked over at Nonnatus house in the early ‘60s, as a midwife.”

Val’s eyes widened. “I never! One of those old nuns delivered me!”

Patsy laughed. “They had their hands in almost everyone in Poplar at some point!”

Valerie paused and raised her eyebrows at Patsy. They both laughed. 

“So, are you running this place?” Val asked. 

Patsy shook her head. “No, my friends Yorkie and Kelly. They are in the back somewhere, arguing about a jukebox. Hey, ladies!” Patsy called to her friends. 

Yorkie and Kelly emerged from behind a wall in the back of the bar. They made their way to the front to greet their visitor. They seemed amused by her brazen entrance.

Val smiled and said, “I’m Valerie. There’s no need to argue over a jukebox, girls, because I’m a musician and can do live gigs. Well, you may want a jukebox for when I take nights off. But what I’m saying is, you can host a live band here. It would be great. Just like at the old Gateways club in London!” Valerie turned to Patsy. 

Patsy’s face fell. She sighed, “I never visited the Gateways, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed–” Valerie apologized.

Patsy shook her head. “Don’t apologize. You assumed correctly. I just never had a chance to go there, that’s all.”

Valerie smiled. “I rather think we can recreate the whole scene here!”

Kelly shook her head. “This place really is the Island of Lesbos.”

The women laughed.

Yorkie said, “I only learned about the Gateways a few nights ago. The librarian at the Living Archives was familiar with it, too, and we watched a scene from a movie filmed there. I can only imagine having hung out there back in the day!”

Valerie nodded. “It was quite a time. Stayed open until sometime in the ‘80s and then had to shut down. Then it was always making your way over to Soho to find a bar or to hang out with the men in one of their bars.”

“Well, we’d love to have you play,” Kelly said. 

“Great, then. Well, I’ll be off. Cheers, ladies. Oh, and Yorkie, this librarian, what was she like? I’ve always found them, well, rather lovely,” Valerie said. 

Yorkie smiled. “Well, she was quite lovely, and smart. And, she expressed a particular interest in meeting a woman from the house band.”

Valerie nodded and winked. “Well, as I said, I’ll be off. I’ll turn up again soon to see about when you’ll open up. Going to be a scene when the visitors come!”

Valerie dashed up the stairs, leaving her new friends beaming. Patsy stood, laughing. 

< >

Delia remained at Trixie’s for a few days. The two women caught up with each other and spent the rest of their time in the companionable silence of two old ladies, dozing off in front of the television, knitting, or telling each other funny stories. 

When Friday rolled around, the San Junipero technician arrived to allow Trixie her weekly visit. During Trixie’s trip, Joan and Barbara would take Delia to dinner to allow for some separation. Before they left the house, Delia took the opportunity to ask the technician questions about the visitor program. 

“There are satellite facilities all around the UK. You would come and take your visit in our comfortable facility, or you would have a technician visit your home. It’s up to you, your personal preference. Some visitors prefer to separate their home from their visits while they decide on their permanent course of action,” the young and pretty technician explained. 

Delia nodded. She asked, “Am I permitted even though I have not been told by a physician that I am approaching death? I mean, look at me in my age, I am obviously nearing the end sooner rather than later, but I could live another decade. It’s not inconceivable.”

The technician nodded. “It’s a common question. Anyone over the age of 70 is permitted their weekly five hour visit. We also extend visitation to anyone with a terminal diagnosis.”

Delia nodded, thinking of Barbara James and her cancer diagnosis. She was sad for Trixie and the family, and worried for Joan. She thought, perhaps, she should plan to spend more time with Joan so that she had a friend for when the inevitable unfolded. She enjoyed her company and her connection to Trixie. And a young person brought her additional energy. She thought she might introduce Joan to her own grown children. She thought she would get on particularly well with Pat, her daughter. 

“Please explain what the first visit will be like,” Delia stated after she emerged from her thoughts. 

The technician nodded. She replied, “If there are specific people you would like to see on your visit, we are able to communicate with them in the cloud and find out where they plan to be when you visit.”

“Where?” Delia asked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, which year,” the technician clarified. 

Delia nodded. “How strange,” she admitted. 

“Based on your inquiry, I understand you are interested in visiting with a specific group of people. This can be arranged through Mrs. James, Trixie, so that you can travel with her on your first visit,” the tech said. She continued in a low voice, “The person you are most interested in seeing, Patience Mount, had a reputation for being somewhat of a difficult customer. She was quick to anger during her visitor days, and we suspect that she would not be willing to reveal much about her whereabouts.”

“Well, we’ll just see about that,” Delia smarted. Once challenged against Patsy’s stubbornness, she felt she could manage Patsy without any trouble. It would be like riding a bike, not that that metaphor really suited Delia. 

The technician laughed, pulling Delia out of her fog. 

“Very well,” Delia agreed. “Please let me know what I have to do to set up a first visit. How much will this cost?”

The technician smiled. “It costs nothing, Ms. Busby.” 

“Is this NHS sponsored?” Delia asked.

“No, not exactly. There are some exploratory grants and trials sponsored by NHS, but this is a private company,” the tech answered. 

Delia nodded. “How peculiar,” she stated. 

< >

Trixie preferred to do her visits from home. Barbara usually stayed in the room while Trixie was away, to help with monitoring the equipment and signals transmitted through the cloud and to take care of any domestic tasks. She was also curious about how the system worked, and she liked to observe her mother while she was traveling. Normally, the client lay perfectly still over the five or so hours of travel. When she awoke, she seemed mildly sedated for some time, without any additional side effects. Barbara thought it seemed like a rather more pleasant version of chemotherapy.

That Friday, Barbara felt well enough to accompany Joan and Delia to dinner. They visited a casual Italian restaurant and dined companionably. Delia asked simple questions about San Junipero and the two women answered to the best of their ability. 

Meanwhile, Trixie began her voyage, a picaresque adventure back to 1965. She landed on a street corner somewhere, passing advertisements for things like Pepsi and various international airlines. She found a stone-faced Patsy clad in slightly outdated pedal pushers and a t-shirt. Her hair was a bit deflated from its beehive of yore; it was relaxed into a ponytail. 

Trixie braced for a thunderous greeting from her old friend, based on her expression. Instead, as she approached the redhead, her friend’s face turned up into its trademark smirk. 

Trixie eyed her cautiously. “Hello, Pats. I say, I can’t quite read your expression. Have you been spying on me in the living world?”

Patsy narrowed her eyes. She responded, “Why would I do that, Trixie? And what would I have learned, had I had the ability to do that?”

Trixie blanched. She smiled and responded, slowly, “Well, I may as well tell you. I’ve had a visitor.”

Patsy’s face darkened. Her lips quivered a bit, as though she would cry or, alternatively, shout. She took a deep breath and composed herself. “Is that so, Trix? And, pray tell, who might that have been?”

Trixie inhaled deeply. “You did give me permission, Patsy,” she admonished.

Patsy dragged on her cigarette. She nodded, “Go on.”

Trixie nodded. “I’ve had a visit from Delia.”

When she heard her old lover’s name, Patsy couldn’t prevent her reaction. Tears ran down her cheeks rapidly and her face flushed red. Her hands shook and her stomach plummeted. She shook her head as though to blow off her own physical reaction. “Go on, please. Tell me.”

“Shall I start from the beginning or give you the basic facts?” Trixie asked, inhaling deeply on her own cigarette and catching tears of her own. 

“Trixie, please!” Patsy cried.

Trixie nodded. She closed the physical distance between her and her old friend. She placed her hand on Patsy’s heart and tried to help steady her breathing, as well as her own. Instinctively, Patsy grabbed Trixie’s hand, steadying herself. 

Trixie choked out her confession. “She’s just the same, Patsy, and she loves you just as much as she did the day she moved into that flat with you. If not, more. Her memories are crystal clear. She has a story, which she should tell you. Please, please open your heart to her.”

Patsy dropped her cigarette. She ran to a nearby trash can, and vomited up the contents of her stomach, which were minimal due to her suspicion that Trixie would arrive with news that night. Then, she collapsed onto the sidewalk in a heap of emotion. 

Before long, she caught her breath, but was lost for coherent thoughts. Patsy looked up to see a gaggle of faces peering down at her – Yorkie, Kelly, Trixie, Lucille, and Valerie. She rolled her eyes. 

“I think I know you!” Lucille exclaimed. 

Trixie laughed and extended her hand to Patsy. “Get up, Patsy. We’ve got much to discuss and, as you know, you never got anything done whilst an emotional wreck.

Patsy shook her head. “Not true. I disinfected the entire convent. Possibly prevented an outbreak of something or other.” She held her head up proudly and strode over to her friends’ bar, due to open in one week.


	6. I Have Just Seen a Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia decides to visit San Junipero. Georgette's bar opens. Patsy freezes, and then bolts. A cliffhanger!

Delia tapped her fingernails on Trixie’s kitchen table, impatiently, her nerves controlling her emotions. Today was the day she was to make her first visit to San Junipero. She felt there was no use in waiting if she was going to go anyway. 

It had been an eventful couple of weeks in Trixie’s now bustling household. Delia and Trixie were quite enjoying each other’s company and, on reflection, Delia had no immediate reason to return to Cardiff. Her son Gareth had been happy to look after the family home. Delia enjoyed spending more time with Joan and Barbara, and was pleased to see Nathaniel more often. Leafy, southwest London was nothing like the Poplar of old, but she appreciated the pace of life and rather liked being in the city in the fall. Most importantly, she was able to explore visiting San Junipero with Trixie there to calm her nerves.

And so on a crisp October Friday, Delia awaited a visit with the technician. The company had been able to set up two traveling stations in the house; they consisted of comfortable, ergonomic chairs, quite like the ones Barbara used during chemotherapy. Delia tried out the chair when she met with the technician. The tech explained that she would receive a mild sedative, and a small, computerized device would be affixed to her temple. She would then start the simulation process by pressing a button on a remote control. 

A few hours before the technician’s visit, she got up from her place at the kitchen table and retreated upstairs to recline in her traveling chair. She was nervous, but Trixie was scheduled to take a visit at the same time, and she would do so from a separate room. Trixie assured Delia that “all would go according to plan,” though she had no idea what that meant and she was certain, by the evasive phrasing, that Patsy had not been informed of anything regarding her visit. 

< >

“This isn’t triggering at all,” Patsy quipped as she looked around Georgette’s, ready for its opening night in 1961. “Starting up the new bar amid one of the worst periods of my life.”

“Pish-posh,” Yorkie said from atop a ladder. 

Yorkie and Kelly decided that it would be too much work to run Georgette’s simultaneously across multiple years. So, they decided that the bar would travel to a new year each Friday. That way, it could have the same staff and the bar’s patrons would be able to find one another. 

Val had arrived earlier in the afternoon to run some sound tests for the band. She had assembled a motley crew of women and one gay male saxophone player to take helm of the band, as Val insisted on playing the drums. She seemed an expert at setting up all the equipment, and once she got the sound going, everyone was pleased with the room’s acoustics. 

“Would be better with a disco ball,” sighed Kelly. “I suppose those come later.”

Yorkie nodded as she stepped down from the ladder. “I’ve got one in the back for the ‘70s, don’t worry.”

Patsy sighed and dragged on her cigarette. “So, what if no one shows up?” Patsy asked, her lip turning up smartly. 

“This place is full of lesbians. It’ll be packed. If you’re trying to talk us out of it, Mount, you’re doing horribly,” Kelly replied. 

“I suppose I’m just nervous,” Patsy said. She stubbed out her cigarette and took a gander around the room. “It’s nice. You know, maybe just being here will help me move on a little. I mean, act on what is in my control and not agonize over the unknown.”

Kelly smirked. “That would have been a great tactic about 50 years ago, Pats.” 

Patsy shrugged, “Well, I’m saying it now. That’s something.”

Kelly laughed, “I mean. You’re dead.”

“Ladies!” Yorkie barked. “This place is set up so we can have a good time. Kelly, if Patsy needs to tell herself something so she can have a good time, then let her. And Patsy, you shouldn’t think too hard about this. It’s just a night club. We’re here to have fun.”

Kelly nearly keeled over laughing. “This is coming from you? The person who nearly pissed herself when I asked if you wanted to come home with me? The person who went back to the living world, came back twice to find me, and then nearly threw herself off a building?”

“Ladies!” Val screeched. “My ears are bleeding. If we multiplied you lot by 20, we’d have a packed house of bickering lesbians not even appreciating that we are literally living in a gay time machine.”

Kelly, Yorkie, and Patsy laughed. 

< >

“Delia, I am going to insert a small port in your arm so I can keep you on a mild sedative during your visit. It is very harmless and you will come-to as soon as the IV is removed. You’ll be aware enough to give consent and control the device on your own, so there is no rush to do anything until you are ready. Trixie is in the other room and has just transported. If we start your process now, you’ll be able to rendez-vous with her in San Junipero shortly. Remember, you will be automatically removed at midnight, but if you decide you would like to return to the living world any time before that, you can.”

It was a lot of words, the technician had spoken. Delia was in a state – she was trying to visualize Patience Mount in her head. What if her memory of Patsy didn’t serve? The thought was ridiculous, given how often she had stared at the lone surviving photograph of them. But the red hair, the eyes, the long limbs…all things that had faded from the picture. And all things that were burned in Delia’s brain for all eternity. She was ready.

“I’m ready, miss,” Delia whispered.

The technician smiled. She began the process of affixing an IV and allowing some liquid to drip into her veins. Perhaps it was low-dose valium. She wasn’t sure. It certainly calmed her, and gave her some courage. Not long after the medicine took effect, Delia nodded to the technician, who affixed a small knob to her temple. She handed Delia a thin remote. 

< >

“Is it that time already?” Patsy exclaimed as Trixie walked through the door of the bar.

Trixie tapped her wrist and nodded. “This place looks lovely! And a band! Well, since I’m here, we can officially declare Georgette’s open for business!” 

Yorkie looked around at the still empty bar and laughed. “I guess so!”

Patsy looked good. She was striking in pleated high-waist trousers, a silky blouse, and a perfect up-do hairstyle. She carried her cigarettes in a little clutch case which she could easily slip into her pocket.

“Alright?” Val gaped at Patsy once she stepped down from the stage. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Patsy. I hope your radiance is catching!”

Patsy blushed. “Thanks, Val. I really did know how to dress in that era. Thought I would dig up some old threads. It was the 70s and…well, the 70s through the rest of the 20th Century and then however long I lived into the 21st Century when I didn’t quite know how to dress myself.”

After about a half hour, the bar began to fill and the band began to play. The women enjoyed each other’s company while admiring all the work they had put in to get the bar up and running. Trixie was enjoying herself, too, but after about an hour she began to watch the clock eagerly. She had given Delia careful directions to the bar. Where was she?

< >

Delia had landed on the far end of San Junipero, by the beach. She knew how to find Georgette’s, but she was nervous, and she wanted to study the landscape a bit before plunging headfirst into a lifetime’s worth of hopes and dreams. As she passed a soda fountain shop, she regarded herself in the mirror. There she was, Nurse Delia, with the telltale brown locks and sparkling blue eyes. Her dress was a tad casual for a night out, but a form fitting, high waist dress with a scoop neck. It rather accentuated some of the loveliest features of her collarbone and neck. 

She was sure she looked good enough for Patsy. She was sure that the bar would be perfect. She was sure that Trixie would be thrilled. But, as she approached Georgette’s, a knot of anger and frustration formed in her belly and began to color over her features. Where had Patsy been all this time? Why waste a lifetime, only to act on a whim in a simulated afterlife that was never guaranteed, or guaranteed to persist? And, what if Delia decided not to stay in San Junipero after all? What if she had lots of life to live, and had to settle for once weekly meetings with the woman she had lost a lifetime with?

Walking and ruminating came easily to Delia. She had done that a lot throughout her life. Often, when she walked, she would wonder if Patsy had ever been in the exact place she was standing, and how recently. She wondered if they were ever in a department store at the same time, or on opposite ends of a train, or maybe just watching the same program at the same time. It was doubtful, because after Poplar, they were never really in the same place at the same time again, and Patsy probably had little time for soap operas, especially from America. As she emerged from her thoughts, she saw a small light casting a glow over a sign, “Georgette’s Club.”

< >

After an hour or so of dancing and banter from the musicians and bartenders, enough patrons had paired off to warrant a slow number from the band. Patsy turned to Trixie to take advantage of the quieter atmosphere and have a chat, but before she knew it her friend had been whisked off to dance with a handsome woman. Patsy sighed. She could probably ask one of the stray women around the bar to dance, but her nerves were firing, and her pain dial was giving off odd electric jolts, like the ones she would get if she forgot to take her anti-depressant medication in the living world.

Patsy recognized the song. It was a 1961 hit by a girl group whose style favored the Andrews Sisters. But they were the Paris Sisters. 

I love how your eyes close  
Whenever you kiss me  
And when I'm away from you  
I love how you miss me  
I love the way  
You always treat me tenderly  
But, darling, most of all  
I love how you love me

Patsy had a rogue memory of something that had never happened – sharing a dance with Delia to this same song. She felt lightheaded and heard a loud thunder clap from outside the bar. 

The door to the bar opened, sending in a breeze but no light from outside because the sky had opened to rain. But Patsy saw a silhouette at the bottom of the staircase, a face, one that she could not deny. The light of the bar eventually cast a glow on Delia; she looked the same, maybe even better after all these years of being apart. Her dress was modest, but it fit her perfectly. She was perfect. 

Delia was looking around the room for about a minute before she met Patsy’s gaze from the far end of the bar. Both stood, stricken, their mouths slightly ajar and faces burning. Patsy looked around the room to make sure that others had noticed Delia and that she was not hallucinating. They had. In fact, most people had stopped dancing to witness the promised reunion. Turns out, word spreads fast in all lesbian communities, even those in the afterlife. 

Patsy was frozen. She wondered about the expression on her face, some mix of shock and elation. As Delia approached, Patsy felt her throat go completely dry. She was trembling. Delia seemed confident - she was smiling and her eyes sparkled. 

“Pats,” she breathed once she was close enough to speak. 

Patsy opened her mouth. No words. She cleared her throat and tried again. No words. She felt the tears cascading down her face, but still, no words. She nodded, then shook her head. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Trixie, Yorkie, and Kelly huddled together and holding hands, as though bracing for impact. 

Patsy took a deep breath. Some sound emerged from the back of her throat – was it a whimper or a moan? Then she smiled, and then she giggled. Then, she narrowed her eyes and her face fell. She looked around the room and back at Delia and before she knew it, she was sprinting out of the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a Beatles fan but the title worked perfectly. Hope you recognize the song. I suggest playing it while reading!


	7. Bring her Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Delia have it out, and leave things uncertain for the week. Trixie and her family reach a crossroads. Delia and Patsy contemplate their feelings separately.

“Pats! Patsy! Stop! Turn around!” Delia was shouting down the street in this new town, drenched by rain, which she didn’t know could even happen here. She was also being watched by curious spectators. This was not how she expected to spend her first night reunited with Patsy. Then again, it wasn’t an altogether uncharacteristic response from the temperamental redhead.

Patsy made a sharp turn into an alley. She looked back towards Delia for just a moment and gestured, ever so slightly, with her head. Same old Patsy, Delia thought. Trying to hide what was pretty much in plain sight for everyone to see. Delia continued walking in Patsy’s direction, but she didn’t speed up. She was trying to slowly diffuse the situation, mainly for Patsy’s protection. She didn’t want her old lover to have a full on meltdown with all her demons circling around at once. 

Delia turned down the alley and squinted. It wasn’t lighted. Then she saw a spark, and Patsy’s face was illuminated by a cigarette lighter. Delia sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t come too close. Please. I can’t –” Patsy warned as Delia approached. 

Delia nodded. “Okay. Okay, Pats. I’m going to stand right here.”

“You want a drag, Delia?” Patsy said sardonically.

Delia sighed. “No. Patsy, if you didn’t want me to come here, then why did you send Trixie out to find me?”

Patsy seethed. “I did no such thing. But while we’re on it, I’m shocked you even showed up.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Delia asked, hurt. 

Patsy leaned against the wall and stared straight ahead. She puffed on her cigarette and allowed herself to cry. One thing about being with Delia, no matter how angry she felt, was that she could show her emotions and they would be tolerated. 

“Patsy, please tell me what you’re thinking. We – we have another chance…” Delia pleaded softly.

“Oh really, Delia? What happened to the first one?”

“Patsy! That’s not all on me…It was…it was something sad that happened to us. It’s neither of our fault,” Delia pleaded.

“Delia, why didn’t you write to me or call Nonnatus or something when you got your memories back?”

“Pats…” 

“Deels! I waited! I wrote…I wrote a couple of times. I thought you never remembered me but it turns out you did!” Patsy cried.

“Pats…It was complicated. I didn’t trust myself and my mother was trying to control me. By the time I got around to calling the convent, you were gone. And the letters…my father told me many years later that my mother destroyed them. I never saw them. But I did remember you, and I loved you, and I never stopped. You have to believe me.”

“You sealed the deal, Busby,” Patsy retorted, bitterly. 

“What’s that?” Delia asked.

“The story of my life, Deels. Everyone disappearing. Having no one. Having only bad memories,” Patsy said.

“Pats,” Delia breathed. “I loved you all my life, especially during that terrible marriage. You were my world, well, apart from my kids and my grandson. I named my daughter after you, for Pete's sake! Even now, in my old age, you're still the one,” Delia smiled. She knew her words were all jumbled, but this is what the woman did to her. She welcomed the familiar emotions, the light headed feeling.

Patsy stared back at Delia, her features softening at the brunette’s admission. She reached out her arm and gestured for Delia’s hand. She held it, while keeping them an arm’s length apart. Touching Delia’s hand was unlike any other sensation she could recall. It was electric; it was, in some sense, life giving. 

Delia didn’t push it. She let Patsy control the interaction. It was one good way to gain her trust, to let her have her feelings and have them acknowledged. 

< >

“Well, that didn’t go according to plan,” Yorkie sighed. The night was winding down and the visitors were about to disappear into the ether. Yet, Patsy and Delia hadn’t returned.

“I hope they’re doing the deed,” Kelly said.

Trixie shook her head. “I doubt it. I bet they’re quarreling. Quarreling and staring at each other. They won’t go to bed together for another week or maybe longer,” Trixie insisted. 

“So you’re not surprised at this?” Yorkie asked. 

“No. It was one of a few potential outcomes. Patsy is angry at Delia, and I’m not surprised that’s what came up when she saw her.”

Yorkie responded, “But wouldn’t Delia be mad at Patsy?”

Trixie shrugged. “Maybe, but Delia is very forgiving, and she gives Patsy a lot of room, and time. I think that’s why they worked so well together. And it's maybe why they never made it back to each other until now.”

< >

Trixie brought Delia a milky tea the morning after their first visit. Delia stirred in the guest’s bed and sat up to accept Trixie’s offering. She smiled her thanks.

“Okay, spill the tea, then, as the kids say,” Trixie implored, while taking a seat at the edge of Delia’s bed.

“Oh Trixie,” Delia sighed. “She was so angry. So I let her be angry. Then we tried to come to an understanding. The rain stopped eventually and we stayed outside talking, in circles, basically. I’ll see her next week. She wouldn’t hug me goodbye. I so longed to touch her. You know, I always understood Patsy’s mind, and her heart. I’m not too surprised at the reaction, but I am a little peeved that she didn’t give me any room for my own feelings.”

“Oh, Deels,” Trixie sighed. “I figured that might be one of her reactions. What’s next?”

Delia chuckled. “She asked me to dinner at her house next week.”

Trixie laughed. “Of course. She’s going to be agonizing all week, wish I could be there.” 

Delia shook her head. “What a thing this is.”

Trixie nodded. “What a thing.”

Their companionable quiet was interrupted, suddenly, by a frazzled Joan who had entered the house and rushed up the stairs. 

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Trixie asked.

“It’s Barbara, Mum,” Joan said. 

Trixie stood. “What? What happened?”

“She’s in hospital. She became very sick right after chemotherapy. Seems it’s not working as well as the physicians had hoped and it’s making her deathly ill. It’s not a good combination, her cancer and that poison. She’s at a crossroads with treatment. When she comes home, I am sure she will want to have a serious conversation with us…”

“Yes,” Trixie said softly. “Shall I get dressed and head to hospital with you?”

Joan sighed deeply. “She wants us to stay away from the hospital, because if we go visit her that means she’s ‘in hospital’ for an extended stay. She wants to come home.”

“But she needs treatment!” Trixie demanded. 

Joan smiled kindly. “Mum, she’s had treatment. She’s had plenty.”

“Oh, Trix. Joan, dear, I’m so sorry for all of you,” Delia comforted. 

Trixie sighed. “We need to get her home, then. We all need to be together. With you, too, Delia, of course.”

Delia laughed. “You ladies know I can give your family space, whenever you need it.”

“Oh, come on, Delia. You’re family now,” Joan insisted.

“Who knew we would end up as life partners, Deels?” Trixie teased.

“Not me!” Delia laughed. “Though at the rate I’m going, you’re a better bet than Patsy.”

“Oh dear,” laughed Joan. “Can’t wait to hear how San Junipero went.”

Trixie shook her head. “There was…some drama between those two.”

“Some,” Delia nodded.

Joan became serious. “Mum, I think it’s time to take Barbara with you.”

“Where, dear?” Trixie asked, distracted. Delia held her breath.

“To San Junipero,” Joan replied.

Trixie’s head snapped up. She stared at Joan for a moment, and then absorbed Delia’s silent reaction. Trixie nodded slightly, and wiped a tear from her eye. 

“Let’s get her home,” Trixie repeated. 

< >

Patsy woke up the day after her fraught reunion with a profound headache. She strolled out to her back porch, which overlooked a path to the beach. She could walk up the beach a bit to Yorkie and Kelly’s. It was a nice spot. 

Patsy had thought many times of setting up home with Delia in San Junipero. She thought about the kind of house they would want. Maybe they could start out in a little flat, like the one that was robbed of them by Delia’s accident. Then maybe a little Welsh cottage. Then a Georgian, like the one her family had owned in London. Then, maybe, another house set off from the rest, just for them. Based on recent complaints from residents bored of the constant Southern California weather, San Junipero had set up a “Northern” zone for the four seasons. Patsy yearned for it, but it would make travel back to her friends a little cumbersome at times. 

She sat in her lounge chair and pulled out her journal. She thought of writing a letter to Delia, one explaining everything she felt and the complexity of her emotions. She also thought of throwing all of those negative feelings to the wind, and recognizing that this was her chance, her chance for a forever with Delia. Back in their day, they had to hide their love, and now they could dwell in it for all eternity, without judgment from anyone. They could marry. They could set up home. They could live in an eternal youth or decide to “grow old” together, and then Benjamin Button back. The world, or something beyond it, was in their hands. How could they be their own worst enemies?

The catch was, Delia wasn’t an exception to the rule. In the living world, Delia had helped solidify Patsy’s conception of herself, one laid down like tracks over years of trauma. Maybe she didn’t mean it, but she had disappeared, like the only other people she had ever loved. And she had taken up a husband, and had a family, all those things that Patsy could never give her. It almost felt like she had lived in spite of Patsy, even though she knew that wasn’t the truth. She felt a profound sense of lack, and that evolved over the years into a hole in her heart. She had given up, and now she had to pull herself out of that. 

Patsy knew the path this would take. Their love was inevitable, cosmic. It held the kind of energy that kept Sun Junipero going despite long odds and the whims of technology. Even towards the end of her life, Patsy thought deep down that somehow their story wasn’t over. She wasn’t sure how that could be possible. Maybe reincarnation? But she was a lifelong atheist and she was pretty unsentimental, especially by the time she was an octogenarian. 

Before they could build any life together, they needed to sort through their issues. Patsy didn’t want to challenge Delia to prove her love, but she thought maybe she would do so anyway. She found it hard to avoid. And maybe Delia needed the same. She knew she needed to give Delia room for her own feelings, but Patsy felt she needed to take her turn first. To boot, Delia wasn’t even dead, and she had a big decision to make around San Junipero, which would take its own emotional toll even if she knew what choice she would make. For the time being, after a lifetime of missed chances, a once-per-week visit through a “long distance” relationship was fine. 

But next week, she really needed to touch Delia.


	8. If that's all there is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh. There's a disturbance at the James household, and no one quite knows what to make of it. Delia and Patsy have their Friday evening dinner.

The doorbell rang.

Joan was in the middle of stirring a cake mix and was otherwise indisposed – she had made a mess of the kitchen and her hands were covered in clumps of batter. Her apron was a mess as well. She rushed to the door anyway.

“May I help you?” Joan asked the woman on the doorstep. She was pretty, with auburn hair and striking green eyes. She seemed about the same age as Joan. 

“Yes, sorry to intrude. I’m told my mother is here. Delia Busby. I’m her daughter, Patricia…Pat.”

Joan beamed. “Oh, wow! Pleasure to meet you! I’ve heard about you from your mother.”

“Mmm,” Pat sounded. Her eyes narrowed and her face turned downward in a scowl.

Joan instinctively took a step backwards. This was odd. “Would you like to come in?” Joan asked. 

“Only if my mother is here,” Pat replied dryly.

Joan smiled tightly. “Well, she is out at the shops with my mother, but they’re expected back any minute.”

Pat nodded. “Alright, then,” she replied. 

“I apologize. I was baking.”

Patricia stepped inside and nodded curtly. “I see.”

“May I take your coat?” Joan asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Well, come, I’ll put the kettle on and you have a seat at the dining table, right through here,” Joan said.

“Thank you,” said Pat, taking a seat. She kept her jacket on. 

Joan lingered near the dining table. “May I ask? Is something wrong?”

Pat looked up. “Well, I’m here to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with my mother. My son tells me, some friends from her past have turned up and then she’s living in London with another woman.”

Joan laughed. “Another woman? You make it sound like they’re lovers. They’re not! They are old friends from nursing, back in the day, before your mother was married.”

“Right,” Pat nodded. “Anyway, I’d like to bring her back to Wales this afternoon. She should be home where my brother Gareth can look after her. I certainly don’t have time to do that here in London.”

“No one is asking you, Ms…Busby?”  
Pat scoffed. “My maiden name is Stewart. My married name is Davies.” 

“Okay,” Joan said, curtly. “I have to say, your mother doesn’t want to go back to Wales. She’s quite enjoying her stay with Mum. And she’s looked after…my sister and I are here and your mother and mine make great company. We’ve quite enjoyed the full house.”

Pat stared. “Ms…”

“James,” answered Joan. “Or just Joan.”

“Alright, Ms. James. I rather resent you telling me what’s best for my own mother.”

“Well, I’m not,” Joan replied. “I’m merely suggesting that she is enjoying her stay here. It brings her back to old times. They are having fun together.”

“Old times? With that woman?”

“With what woman?” Joan demanded.

“That, Patsy. Patsy Mount, her old lover,” Pat barked.

Joan shook her head. “I regret to inform you that Patsy passed away several years ago,” Joan smarted. “I’m afraid your namesake is obsolete,” she added.

“Oh, what a pity,” Pat scoffed. 

“I am not enjoying having you in the house, I daresay,” Joan retorted. “You’re very rude.”

“I can go,” Pat said, motioning to get up.

Like clockwork, the front door clicked and in shuffled Trixie and Delia.

“Pat!” Delia exclaimed.

“Mother,” Pat nodded. 

Delia smiled weakly. “Trixie, Joan, this is my daughter Patricia,” she said.

Joan smiled insincerely. “We’ve met!” She announced.

Delia gave Joan a cautious look. 

“Joanie, why don’t we give them a moment?” Trixie said. She and Joan made their way into the kitchen, set off from the dining area. 

Trixie and Joan met at the sink, their backs turned to the conversation in the other room.

“What’s all this about?” Trixie whispered.  
“She’s terrible, Mum. She’s here to give Delia the what-for, take her back to Wales.” Joan threw her towel down onto the kitchen counter. “She’s a mad cow!” Joan said, exasperated.

Trixie’s eyes widened. “Take her back to Wales? Isn’t she the mother of that darling boy?”

Joan nodded. “That’s what’s astounding. I think she is some kind of sociopath.”

Joan put the cake pan into the oven and she and her mother began to wash up.

In the next room, Delia and Pat were having it out. 

“Mam, this is absurd. Why would you even agree to come here?” Pat demanded.

“Patricia, you have no right to barge into my friend’s home and tell me what to do,” Delia defended.

“Don’t I? What’s happening? You’re plotting some big reunion with your old gang? Gonna drive off into the sunset with the funny nurses?” Pat continued. 

“Yes, in fact, I am.” Delia screeched.

“But why?!” Pat screeched. 

“Pat, I love you. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye on many things, most specifically my inclination toward women. But, I am old, I have no pressing responsibilities, and I am allowed to live my life as I see fit,” Delia responded in a measured tone.

“So is this about her? This Patsy?” Pat asked.

“Well,” Delia began, taking a deep breath. “Patsy passed a few years ago. But I daresay a reunion is in store.”

“Have you had your head done in, Mam?” Pat laughed, cruelly, realizing that this may have been a big misunderstanding and her mother was showing signs of dementia. 

“No, dear. I’m sharp as a tack. I am visiting San Junipero,” Delia answered complacently.

“Oh, Hell’s Bells!” Pat shrieked. 

“Seems my darling grandson is excellent at keeping secrets from you. He knows how to deal with you,” Delia spat.

“Deal with me?!” Pat responded.

“I’ll say,” Joan said from the kitchen, just audibly enough for them to hear in the other room. 

“Piss off!” Pat yelped. 

“My dear,” Trixie said, leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. “As you are Delia’s daughter, I know you know better than to barge into an old lady’s house and start cussing out the whole family.”

Pat glared at Trixie. She glared at Delia. She glared at Joan. They had reached a kind-of stalemate. She stormed out of the house, leaving the front door swinging in her wake. 

< >

San Junipero

On Friday, around noon, Patsy padded about her home anticipating Delia’s visit. They would have the night to themselves. The visit was limited to five hours with the standard midnight deadline, and Patsy had instructed Delia to drop by exactly at 7pm. She informed that their visit would take place in 1994. 

Patsy regretted she would not be seeing Trixie this week, but Yorkie and Kelly had promised to take care of her and show her a fun evening. Yorkie and Kelly had stopped by Patsy’s several times during the week to give Patsy a pep talk and to help her decide what meal to prepare and how to approach some of the trickier conversations. 

And sex. Delia and Patsy had never had sex. Patsy remembered how it felt to kiss Delia back in those days, and she remembered the feelings that coursed through her body when they touched. Their kisses were always so gentle and searching, until they became urgent and heated. She loved the feel of Delia’s tongue meeting hers, of clashing teeth and losing herself in their connection. She loved the tender touches up and down each other’s arms, or the more urgent hand squeezes that communicated so much. Patsy recalled the heat and wetness that pooled in her undergarments and how her thighs would sweat when she tried to control the sensations by clamping her legs together. She remembered fighting off urges to push their encounters further, not quite knowing how much would be possible (couldn’t ever be much while squeezed into a telephone booth or fumbling behind a door secured by a propped chair). After their kisses and fumbles, Patsy would retreat back to her bedroom, sweaty and jittery and in a daze. With trembling hands she would pleasure herself beneath her cotton pajamas, eventually understanding how a woman’s body reacted, how her body reacted. Her fantasies of Delia were delicious, with her breasts on full view and her strong thighs clamped around Patsy’s middle. But whenever she peeked out from under the covers after climaxing, the cold air in the uninsulated room snapped her back to reality – that of an empty single bed and a murmuring roommate. 

Long after Delia’s accident, as time wore on into the ‘70s and the heyday of women’s liberation, Patsy learned a lot about lesbian sex and had some great lessons, mostly from American girls with filthy mouths and good upbringings. But not a single encounter passed where Patsy hadn’t imagined Delia; she had come to realize that she could only climax when the Welsh woman flashed through her head. In a way, Patsy felt like sex with Delia was a natural, that it had defined her sexual life, even if they had never experienced it together. Several years before her death, Patsy settled in with a companion, an old friend who had decided, along with Patsy, that she wanted to wind down her living years by grasping on to carnal pleasures and ignoring her loneliness. Patsy’s partner died not too long after they settled in, and Patsy went right back to thinking about Delia, as though nothing had even happened. Love, of this magnitude, could turn a person selfish and cruel. She was glad she hadn’t dedicated more of her life to some unwitting soul, what with her penchant for facades and all. 

This, their reunion in San Junipero…it would be different. 

Kelly tried to coax details from Patsy about her sexual experiences in the living world, against Yorkie’s protestations. Patsy merely smirked, revealing herself as a kind of lesbian lothario of New York during the heydays of gay liberation. She slept around a lot in those days, and she was not wont for guidance on the anatomy of women. She left out the part about never being truly satisfied, of always searching and never finding. This had made her a great lover, because she often approached her encounters with urgency, passion even, a sense of possibility. She knew how to make women melt.

Delia was another story. Patsy had her suspicions about what Delia liked sexually – about spots on her neck that made her gasp, the way her breasts seemed to swell and her nipples protrude when their bodies melded together, the heat from between her legs that was evident those few times Patsy’s hands ventured up Delia’s skirt and pawed between her thighs. She had thought enough about sex with Delia to fashion herself as a sort of expert, but blueprint knowledge was very different from the tacit knowledge one gained from having done something over and over again. And sadly, they never had the chance to really learn each other’s bodies.

And so Friday afternoon rolled around. Patsy had visited the farmer’s market in the morning, obtaining fresh ingredients for a Bolognese sauce and some fresh pasta. Val had helped her pick out the alcohol. They figured only wine was appropriate for this sort of occasion, but Patsy needed help choosing and though Val had spent much of her life slinging pints, she knew a thing or two about other libations. In the end Patsy stocked the refrigerator with varieties of wine; after all, she and Delia had only ever had whiskey together, so she wouldn’t know what kind of wine Delia would want. As ever, she had her guesses but made no assumptions. 

< >

A grey cloud loomed over the James household all week, and by Friday everyone was relieved for the weekend. Barbara had returned home Friday morning to rest and consider her options. She had been feeling well for a couple of days and was a joy to have around while she had her energy. She brought a youthful laughter and humor into the otherwise unsettled home. It was full of love, but everyone was jarred by Pat’s visit. Nonetheless, Delia and Trixie were giggling as they prepared to travel, Delia to 1994 and Trixie back to the ‘60s for another night at Georgette’s. Joan and Barbara couldn’t get enough of the two old ladies in their glee. 

Delia and Trixie had done a fair bit of talking about Delia’s family and its problem child, the volatile Patricia. Trixie was still taken aback by the incident. Joan was horrified but was adamant that Delia not take it out on herself. None of the James women knew quite what to make of the exchange, and Delia seemed too preoccupied to delve into it very deeply. But a less than pleasant family history was coming into sharper view and everyone knew it had to come out at some point. More than anything, the James women worried for Delia’s happiness and wanted to get to the bottom of her daughter’s witchy behavior. 

Delia knew she could only address her issues with Pat once she addressed the defining issue of her life, Patience Mount.

< >

Patsy figured 1994 was a fun year, with good news stories from the States – Tonya and Nancy, OJ Simpson. The fashion was atrocious but it was a great equalizer – neither woman was going to look her absolute best. And it was so far out from their time together they would both be a little disoriented. Their only anchors would be each other. And their bodies, well, those would be the same.

One issue, though, was the music. It wasn’t a particularly good year for music. She decided to venture back into the ‘70s and ‘80s with some Fleetwood Mac, a perennial favorite of late 20th Century dinner parties. She wore a simple pair of bootleg jeans and a flannel shirt under a nice sweater. Not very sexy, but she wanted to communicate seriousness at first, to open the environment for conversation and comfort. Her hair was up in a ponytail but a cascade of pretty wisps trailed down the area where her cheeks sloped into her neck. Her lips were a glossy pink, thick and pronounced. 

And like clockwork, 7pm rolled around and there was Delia, standing at the doorstep. San Junipero had its quirks, problems in the algorithm, perhaps. No one ever knocked when they were visiting; they just sort of appeared, disoriented and uncertain until they found their bearings. By then Patsy was at the door, meeting her old lover’s gaze. 

“Delia,” Patsy breathed, regarding her girlfriend up and down. Delia was clad in a denim-style cotton dress. She had bangs, almost like the ones she had in the ‘60s. Her cheeks were rosy. To go with the times, she had a mismatched utility jacket draped over her shoulders. 

Delia giggled. “You look, um, nice,” she replied. Patsy in her bootcut jeans, just a little too short and her cotton tee. 

Without thinking, Patsy pulled Delia towards her and wrapped her in a tight embrace. 

“I love you,” she exclaimed, almost on autopilot, without thinking. She caught her breath. “Everyone else knows it so you should too.” 

“Oh, Pats,” Delia sighed. “I love you too.”

Patsy pulled away. “Where do we go from here?”

Delia giggled. “Well, they gave us a lovely night, didn’t they? Shall we picnic on the beach?”

“Come in,” Patsy replied, ushering Delia past the threshold. “Thing is, Deels, I pulled a typical Patsy and prepared something completely impractical for a night on the beach. Bolognese.”

Delia laughed in delight. “Maybe in the living world that would be a little unwieldy, but who cares? This is San Junipero. I say, a little bonfire, some spaghetti, and a long talk are in good order.”

Patsy flashed her trademark, crooked smile. “And some wine?”

Delia smiled and nodded. “Yes, and some wine. You wouldn’t happen to have a dry white?”

Patsy laughed and opened the fridge. She pulled out a sauvignon blanc. She quipped, “Courtesy of Val, a California sau blanc. She says the soil is ideal for the grape.”

Delia smiled. “Well, she sounds like a right charmer. Too bad I didn’t have a chance to meet her.”

Patsy frowned. “Oh, Deels. I don’t know what to say about last week. I can only say that you will meet Val, and everyone else, properly. They’ll become your family, if you’ll have them, if you’ll have me.”

Delia stared, her expression unreadable. “Pats, let’s get to the beach. We need to talk.”

Patsy put together the meal and carried it outside in a basket along with a large blanket and some kindling for a bonfire. It was a beautiful evening, and it reminded her of the July 4th holidays she spent on Fire Island with her gay friends. A ridiculous holiday, she thought, but a lovely way to spend any weekend. The sun was low in the sky – a golden hour, a perfect light washing over the sand. The tide was low and barely audible. The air smelled of salt, rather like the taste of a lover’s sweaty skin, in the way smells evoke tastes, and vise-versa. 

Patsy placed the blanket on the sand and smoothed it out, preparing a picnic. Delia twirled, allowing her bare feet to dig into the sand. Her dress flew up a bit, exposing her toned legs. She was so beautiful to Patsy. Patsy pulled out a cigarette and lit it, needing to do something with her hands lest she reach out for her lover’s exposed skin. 

Patsy giggled, “I’ll use the lighter to get a fire going, soon as I’m done with this fag.” 

Delia nodded. “Smoking can’t get you now, can it?”

Patsy shrugged, “Suppose not.”

They got the fire going before long, and the flames jumped higher and higher as the evening fell. Dusk gave way to twilight, and the two women ate spaghetti and drank wine, regarding each other without speaking much. After they cleaned up, Patsy beckoned for Delia. Delia sat between Patsy’s legs and leaned back so that her head could rest in the crook of Patsy’s shoulder, and Patsy could wrap her arms around Delia and rub her cheek against hers. Patsy sobbed quietly.

“Pats,” Delia started, gently. “Why was your first reaction to run away in anger? After all this time, your first reaction at the sight of me?”

Patsy gulped. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I had no idea what I was going to feel when I saw you. Hell, had it been a different night, I may have had a different reaction. But I do know that I spent a lifetime, or at least most of a lifetime, pining after you. My heart bled for you. I wondered where you were and who you were spending your life with. I was robbed, at least I felt that way. I was out of touch with everyone and I had no way to find you. You were lost to me and there was – there is – a part of me that blames you. A part of me that wishes you’d loved me enough to come and find me.”

Delia sighed, as tears rolled down her own cheeks. She nodded. “I do understand, Pats. Really, I do. It really had nothing to do with how much I love you. I hope you’ll believe that one day. All that time in that terrible marriage, I thought of you. I had an old faded picture of us together, so happy we were. It is the one image I go back to, rather like an heirloom. You never stopped being the love of my life. And now, now…Well I am ready to choose you for eternity.”

Patsy cried harder, but eventually caught her breath. “But why now, why in the afterlife? Why wasn’t I good enough in the living world? Why wasn’t I worth it? I mean, is this even real?”

Delia pulled out of their embrace slightly so she could turn to face Patsy. “It feels real,” she answered. 

Patsy nodded. “It really does. Your touch, your skin, it feels electric. Our connection. It’s all come flooding back. But…why wasn’t I enough?”

Delia was quick to frustration over these lingering questions. “I don’t know!” She exclaimed. “There’s a lot, a lot of ground to cover about my life. It will all roll out eventually. But I don’t want to waste tonight. And we can take our time. We have eternity.”

Patsy huffed. “Well, until you come to live here permanently. Until then we get five hours a week.”

Delia sighed. “Why can’t it be enough? Eternity…isn’t that enough, Patsy?” Delia was exasperated now. “It has to be enough! It’s all there is!”

Patsy glared. “It’s all there is, because you never came for me.”

They had reached a stalemate. Patsy looked rather like Delia’s daughter in that moment. Her jaw was set and her eyes were shining, ready for a fight, though her shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Delia ran her fingertips through the sand for a few moments, before looking back up at Patsy. Slowly, she asked, “Patsy, where are you interred?”

“Hmm?” Patsy questioned, caught off guard. 

“Where are you buried?” Delia clarified.

Patsy scoffed. “My ashes are in a mausoleum for lonely rich people. Next to some, a gentleman, one Morton Schultz. Another lonely soul, I presume.”

Delia smiled, faintly. “Well, do you think Morton could make room for one more? A pauper, perhaps? A charwoman from Wales?”

Patsy resisted the urge, but she couldn’t help her watery smile. Then, she burst out laughing. “You want to be fired up and then stood next to me in an urn?”

Delia rocked with laughter. “I do, rather.”

The two women laughed and laughed. After a while, they regarded each other. They each had a lot to say, but there were no words. Eventually, Patsy sighed and said, “Well, if that’s all there is…” They laughed in relief. 

Delia looked around, making sure the beach was theirs. She need not have, as San Junipero allowed for privacy where needed. Slowly, she unbuttoned the front of her dress, allowing the sleeves to drop down until she could shake her shoulders and clavicle free of the fabric. Patsy watched the rounded swell of the tops of Delia’s breasts as they appeared. 

Patsy practically lunged for Delia, her mouth agape, ready to taste her skin and lips. Delia reached out a hand as though to stop her. She shook her head. Patsy halted. Delia continued to unbutton her dress, until her bra came into plain view. She stood, then, and shook herself free of the dress, revealing herself, the only barriers now her bra and panties. She stood there for a good while, allowing Patsy to see her. She slipped slowly out of her panties, revealing the most intimate part of herself. The tops of her thighs broke out in goosebumps as she unhooked her bra from the back. She let it drop over her front, and then to the ground. She smiled at Patsy, with so much love in her eyes. Patsy stared back, some mixture of awe, lust, and love splattered across it ungracefully. Her eyes were glassy and the tops of her cheeks flushed crimson.

Delia twirled so Patsy could see all of her. Then, she reached out a hand and pulled the redhead to her feet. She held both Patsy’s hands, and slowly drew them to grasp on her waist. 

“I’m yours,” Delia whispered. “All of me. Now, then, forever. For every lifetime, in every lifetime. Let no one tell you otherwise…ours is one of the great love stories.”

Patsy gasped. Tears poured down her face as she took control of her own hands. She caressed Delia’s sides and pawed at her belly, as a lifetime of imagined memories came to life. She croaked, then took a deeper breath to speak. “Oh Delia. How I love you. You are…you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. No one could ever, no one did ever live up to you. And I never even got to touch you like this.”

“You can now,” Delia said. 

Patsy pulled Delia to her with force, searing their lips together. They relished in the sensation of their lips touching, an act with which they were quite familiar. Memory served – there was no awkward fumbling. It all came roaring back. Patsy sought entrance to Delia’s mouth by tickling her lips with her tongue, and Delia relented, allowing the kiss to deepen. Patsy could feel Delia begin to work on her clothing, tugging at the hem of her shirt. Patsy raised her arms so Delia could pull off her top. She started to unbutton her jeans and Delia helped by pulling down the zipper. Patsy slid out of them as quickly as she could. Nearly as quickly, she discarded her undergarments and pulled Delia to her again, allowing their breasts to mingle and press against each other’s. 

Delia clutched Patsy, her arms locked around her neck, her lips trailing soft kisses down her neck and over her collar bone. Patsy grazed Delia’s back with her fingertips, and then let them travel downward over the slope of her lower back. She squeezed Delia’s butt gently, then caressed it with her fingers until Delia gasped. She allowed her hands to dip down towards the area where Delia’s thighs parted. Delia was panting. A jolt of arousal coursed upward from between Patsy’s legs and into her head, like a bolt of electricity making its way up her body. She had never felt like this before, at least not outside of dreams.

“Make love to me, Patsy!” Delia exclaimed, dropping to her knees. Patsy followed. They placed their hands on each other’s shoulders and kissed fervently. Patsy pushed Delia gently, asking her to lower herself down on the blanket. She crawled on top of Delia and allowed their legs to mingle. She could feel Delia’s wetness on her thigh. It was a validation she’d sought for ages, feeling how wet she made Delia. They kissed as Patsy’s hand trailed downward and her fingertips mingled with the patch of hair at the apex. Finally, she allowed her fingertips to dip down and part Delia, and she felt the warm wetness with her hands.

“Oh, Deels,” Patsy sighed. 

Delia breathed, “Yes, Pats. This is what you do to me. This is what you did to me every time we touched. Practically every time I saw you. I was always so turned on around you. You made me wet, you made my body scream for touch. You did that, only you. You still do.”

Patsy reveled in Delia’s words and trailed her lips down Delia’s body. She peered up into Delia’s eyes and smiled. “How I’ve wanted to taste you. Oh God,” Patsy exclaimed. 

“Please,” Delia moaned. 

Patsy felt suddenly nervous. She fashioned herself an expert at this particular act, with a keen knowledge of how to adjust her movements based on a woman’s reaction. But this was different. This was Delia. She had to be attentive. She had to make it perfect. She had to make it “out of this world,” so to speak. 

Patsy grazed Delia’s pussy with the tip of her nose, running it up and down and extracting a moan from her lover. She kissed her in the center of her wetness, and ran a tongue up and down her slit. She kissed again. She heard Delia pant, and suddenly a hand pulled on her hair. She looked up to see Delia caressing her own breasts with her other hand. Patsy let the tip of her tongue graze Delia’s clit, and then she continued to lap at her, taste, relish her. Patsy flattened her tongue and took a long, languid lick. She then put more pressure on her lover’s clit, and circled her tongue teasingly before increasing pressure. As Delia began to tense and buck her hips, Patsy opened her eyes and watched her; she watched her lover orgasm before her eyes, something she had imagined for so long. She looked just as she’d imagined it. 

While Delia’s breathing slowed, Patsy rested her head on Delia’s inner thighs; she took in her sent and kissed her soft skin gently. Eventually, she crawled up Delia’s body, taking time to kiss up her abdomen, past her ribcage, the valley between her breasts, her collarbone, and eventually her neck and lips. Patsy hoped that Delia could taste herself intermingled with Patsy’s spit. They stayed in that position for some time, and the atmosphere had plunged into total darkness during their lovemaking.

Patsy rolled off her lover and rested next to her. “That was…”

Delia sighed, “That was everything, Patsy. It’s like my whole life, I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Patsy sniffled. “It was so beautiful. And – and it’s almost midnight.”

“Pats,” Delia said. “I want to take my time with you.”

“How do you mean?” The redhead seemed confused.

Delia giggled. “With you, you goose. I want to make love to you, but slowly. I want to feel everything,”

Patsy smiled. She rolled over and rested her head in the crook of Delia’s neck. She placed her hand on Delia’s chest and felt the pitter-patter of her heart. 

“That sounds lovely Deels. We will have another chance next week.”

Delia sighed. “It’s such a long time to wait.”

Patsy took a deep breath. “Deels, hold my hand, tight. Midnight – it’s about to be midnight.”

The earth shook.


	9. Chapter 9: Return to Innocence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yorkie has a strange encounter with another resident. Barbara prepares to visit San Junipero for the first time. The gang reunites for a visitor's evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a post after a long delay. Covid depression, chronic illness, work...All those things got in the way. This is a short chapter that introduces a major plot device. I hope to write more substance soon, but there is a huge prospect on the horizon. I hope you still enjoy, whoever is left reading.

Yorkie loved the late fall weather, especially now that seasonal changes didn’t cause her body to ache. She could feel November taking over the air and the light. The ocean water seemed to become a steelier blue and the wind seemed to nip at the frothy peaks of the waves. The light was more honest – here for a set amount of time each day, and gone for the night, nice and tidy. Not that anything really changed all that much in San Junipero. A chilly, winter evening really only required a sweatshirt or jacket. 

As she walked along the beachfront path, Yorkie wondered about those residents who would choose to go live in the continental climate zone, with severe seasonal changes between winter and summer. She had heard Patsy bring it up once or twice, and wondered if she would settle in the new region eventually, perhaps with Delia in tow. San Junipero promised “easy transport” between zones, whatever that meant. To this point, Yorkie had chosen not to attend the town hall meetings where such innovations were discussed and prioritized. She had been thinking recently that she should start attending, as she occasionally caught pieces of conversations in coffee shops alluding to experiments or changes to accommodate the growing population. 

Perhaps it was not an accident then, that during her stroll she came upon the entrance to the central scientific facility, the headquarters for data and connection to the living world. The building was stark white. Yorkie often joked that she hadn’t realized there were so many varieties of white until she began visiting San Junipero. There was hospital white and research laboratory white and special van white and any other kind of white. 

Yorkie loitered around the front entrance debating whether to enter. Just then, a guy with a bike messenger pack and thick-rimmed glasses approached her. 

“Oh, hey,” Yorkie said, surprised.

He nodded, “Hey.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a flier. “Here, you should come to this info session or…go to that website and read up on this clinical trial. Could be a game changer.”

Yorkie laughed, “San Junipero is kind of a game changer.”

He inhaled sharply, “Yeah, well. Check out this clinical trial.”

Yorkie sighed. She had experienced one too many of those in her lifetime and assumed that at least San Junipero would be free of clinical trials intended to…prolong life. 

She smiled, “Thanks, but I’m not really into that.”

He nodded, “I get it. I spent the last five years of my life going through immune therapy trials. This is different. Basically, they are working on a program to bring people to San Junipero who died before San Junipero existed.”

Yorkie smirked, “Yeah, well, that doesn’t make sense, so take back your flier.”

He laughed, “No, really.”

She stood up straight. “I don’t want to say I’m interested but…how?”  
“The only condition is that at least one current resident of San Junipero has to have a memory of the person from when they lived…from when they were both alive.”

“Ok, so no Henry the 8th.”

He nodded. “Right. I guess we could Kevin Bacon it back to him eventually. Anyway, basically we round up everyone who remembers interacting with the person – people in San Junipero and people who are still alive. And we download as many memories of them as we can. The agency collects all retrievable documentation on the person, the more authentic the better…so, letters, photos, videos. Then the people who knew them read those letters or watch those videos and then more data gets uploaded until…”

“Until the person appears in San Junipero.”

He lowered his eyes. “Yes. The experiment is actually in beta. The first two…tries…were not that…successful?” 

Yorkie laughed, “What do you mean?”

“Well, remember that night when the alarms went off and we were all ordered to stay in our domicile due to a glitch?”

Yorkie nodded. “There were basically a couple of computerized zombies running around?”

He nodded solemnly. “But, the simulation lab is making progress.”

Yorkie nodded. “Well, good. Good luck to the simulation lab. Just let me know if I should put extra locks on my doors.”

The guy laughed good-naturedly. “Take a flier, at least.”

Yorkie snatched a flier and turned away. She began walking briskly in the direction of her home. 

“I’m Cameron, by the way!” She heard him call. 

Yorkie raised her hand and waved, refusing to turn her head. 

@@@@

London.

“Tonight’s a night as good as any,” Barbara remarked.

“It is, isn’t it?” Trixie agreed, solemnly.

“You’ll have a nice time dear, I am sure of it. The first trip is scary, I can attest. But then, you won’t be wearing a dress from the ‘60s and searching about for your long lost lesbian love, now, will you?” Delia replied good-naturedly.  
Joan entered the room balancing a tray of teacups. She smiled at Delia. “And when, pray tell, Aunt Delia, will we be getting the details of that night finally spent with Patsy?”

Barbara and Trixie perked up eagerly. Delia couldn’t help but think back to Trixie and Barbara Gilbert on the Nonnatus beds, eager for all of the gossip. This, she supposed, was the fanfare worth waiting on over fifty years. She had an image of her two young friends on the bed, and imagined their reactions to the news that she and Patsy had made love. In 1960. She chuckled to herself. 

“What is it? What?” Barbara prodded, eagerly.

Delia smiled. “Well, she chose 1994 as the year. Odd, neither of us looked particularly attractive in the oversized, mismatching clothes. But, well, Patsy knew exactly what to do. It was like…her fantasy of making love to me was committed to memory. She knew exactly where and how to touch. She was magnificent.”

Trixie beamed. “Aw, Delia. I suppose when you spend your life wanking to one fantasy you better well have got it down!” 

Delia laughed. “I suppose so. I still can’t believe she never forgot me, that she channeled the memory of my touch for all those years. It would have been so easy to just…get in touch and admit our feelings for each other.”

Barbara tilted her head to the side. “Really? How could it have been easy?”

“It’s easier than time travel, dear,” Delia reminded.

Barbara nodded. She looked down into her lap, seemingly coming to terms with the coincidence of adventuring in San Junipero and experiencing death in her body. 

“Well,” Barbara replied. “I still think it’s a gift from…somewhere…that you are having this chance again.”

Joan laughed. “All this gives new meaning to the idea that ‘there’s no there, there.’ Which, I suppose, never really had any meaning.”

It was clear Joan was struggling. She knew she would eventually, in the not too distant future, be losing her sister and mother to death, and to the after place. She wondered if San Junipero would still be there when her time came, or if it would be filed away in the annals of human experimentation gone awry. 

^^^

San Junipero, late afternoon

Patsy was having trouble keeping still. She felt giddy, like a person with schoolgirl crush. She would see Delia this evening, though the plan was to meet with Trixie, Yorkie, Kelly, and Trixie’s daughter Barbara. Any lovemaking would have to wait a week. Patsy didn’t mind, as long as she was able to see and touch Delia. 

The sun began to dip beyond the horizon, marking the high visiting hours.  
Patsy heard a knock at her door. 

“Yorkie!” Patsy exclaimed, opening the door for her friend.

“Hey, Pats,” Yorkie replied.

“What’s up?”

The ladies gathered at Georgette’s in time for the visitors. On cue, in walked Trixie, Delia, and a Trixie doppelganger. 

Patsy’s face lit up. “Deels!” She greeted. 

Delia skipped over to Patsy and kissed her cheek. “Hi, doll. You look so good.”

Patsy blushed, “Well, you bring it out in me.”

Yorkie was kicking her feet into the ground. Kelly watched her curiously. She seemed really nervous.

“Yorkie, Kelly, Pats…This is my daughter Barbara,” Trixie announced. 

Barbara smiled shyly. “My goodness. It’s so lovely to meet you all.” She looked at Patsy. “You’re exactly how I pictured you.”

Patsy smiled, “You’re exactly how I pictured you too…Basically, you’re a young Trixie. You’re twins.”

“Guys!” Yorkie interjected. “I met this guy today, and he told me about this new experiment.”

Patsy went quiet and eyed her friends. “It is…interesting,” she supplied.

“What is it, Yorks?” Kelly asked impatiently. “And why did you tell Patsy before you told me?”

Yorkie sighed deeply. “Basically, there’s a new clinical trial going on in the simulation center. They are experimenting with bringing people back who…who went before San Junipero existed.”

Trixie blanched. “What do you mean?”

Yorkie hesitated. “If you encountered someone in the living world…if you have a memory of them and there are relics of them in the living world…They are trying to generate them back based on the memories cobbled together.”

The Nonnatus girls traded glances. “Go on,” Delia said, softly.

Yorkie nodded. “Yeah, if you all knew someone back in the day, and you all have memories of them, and maybe some documents or photos of them still around in the living world, you may be able to bring them to San Junipero. For good.”

Everyone in the group seemed introspective. Kelly thought of her daughter, who had passed at age 39. Patsy imagined her family, long gone. Trixie, though, had gone completely white.

Patsy turned to Trixie, concerned. “What’s wrong, love?” She asked softly.

Trixie looked up and by now, there were tears streaming down her blanched cheeks. The Nonnatus girls looked at each other, sizing up the situation. 

“Barbara Gilbert…” Delia murmured. 

Patsy gasped. Trixie's daughter beamed. Trixie nodded slowly. She locked eyes with Patsy. “Cigarette, Pats. Now.”


End file.
